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Cornell University Library 
DH 907.R42 1913 


3 1924 028 319 949 

Cornell University 

The original of tiiis book is in 
tine Cornell University Library. 

There are no known copyright restrictions in 
the United States on the use of the text. 



Photo ; il. CftarUs Grieser] 

[Cotiri Photographer, Lttxtiftbourg. 


awt. flfhj fcuf ^ 











{All rights reserved) 













X. TO THE VISITOR . . . 295 






luxembourg : high town and suburb of grund . 32 

luxembourg : general view . . -46 

in the pfaffenthal, luxembourg . ■ 5' 

grand ducal palace, luxembourg . . -55 

the bock, luxembourg . . . . -63 

altar in the chapel of st. quirinus, luxembourg 69 

Goethe's house, Luxembourg . -72 

old luxembourg : suburb of grund . . 72 

on the outskirts of luxembourg 74 

MONDORF . . . -78 

hesperange . . .89 

the gate of rodemack . 95 

remich, from the MOSEL . 106 

echternach, from troosknepchen 119 

the dingstuhi,, echternach . . -13° 














VICTOR Hugo's house at vianden 


CHAPPELLE du bildchen . 

WILTZ ..... 










• 277 
. 289 

End of volume 


Denn das ist, bei meiner Ehre, 
Doch ein allerliebster Ort. 




The world appears to be fast outgrowing its 
Ruritanias. We are in an era of vast states and 
huge empires ; there is not a little land but is 
threatened, more or less alarmingly, by a powerful 
neighbour, ready to throw out a bayonet-bristling 
frontier and so add yet more to the fabric of wide 
dominion. What Ruritanias have gone to make our 
empires of to-day, and with their going what romance 
has ended ! What individuality and personality have 
often been swallowed up by the Moloch of Might, 
crushed in the arms of Ambition ! 

But it is not only the imperial desire for the 
biggest possible " place in the sun " which is robbing 
the world of its Ruritanias. The Empire of Speed 
is one of the greediest. Its people think little of 
wrecking an Arcadia ; they slaughter Beauty on 
their dusty altar without a thought : 

Motors take the road ! 
(Take the whole of the road;) 
Snort -and quiver in dreadful play ! 
(Earthquakes out for a holiday), 



Burn the miles of the winding way ! 
Shriek to the cloudlands o'er us- . . . 
Like the swoop and rush of a runaway star 
Is the meteor flight of a motor-car ! 

And, to be quite just, it does not need the possession 
of a motor-car to make the tourist a tyrant. Oh, 
how many lands delectable he has spoiled with 
char-a-banc and belvedere ! How many delightful, 
kindly folks he has infected With the germ of com- 
mercialism and artificiality ! And that Alexander 
is ever looking out for new worlds to conquer. Yet 
I connive at his conquests ! If, however, he accepts 
me as co-conspirator, let me plead with him that he 
learn something of the art of travel. It is better to 
know a county than to rush, in stress and strain, 
across a continent. Be a wanderer. 

So let me say this : It is fatal to follow a guide- 
book, absurd to map out a route. Obtain from 
guides and maps, by all means, " the lie of the 
land," but leave them behind. If you do not often 
feel, with Stewart Edward White, that " the mere 
name of a place seems to strike deepest at the heart 
of romance," if you can feel and can resist the call 
of a name ten miles from the way a road may happen 
to be leading you, you are not a wanderer. If a 
chance word from a passing wayfarer will not make 
you turn aside and stake your chance of a bed and 
a supper, well, keep your gospel of speed and " travel 
in comfort." If your curiosity, demands a certain 
accurately timed amount of satisfaction per day with 
regular hours for meals, by all means see that you 
have a circular ticket for a conducted tour. 


Not to such do I offer my picture of an Arcadian 
duchy. This tiny paradise, this little unspoiled 
corner of earth which has known Nature's most 
happy inspirations, is for those whose guide is 
Wanderlust, for those who count the loss of speed 
and " all modern conveniences " " not too great a 
price to pay for the sight of a place called the 
Hills of Silence, for acquaintance with the people 
who dwell there, perhaps for a glimpse of the Saga- 
spirit that so named its environment." And, for 
reward, I promise them that they will return " laden 
with strange and glittering memories," if only they 
will follow, not necessarily in my footsteps, but 
wherever in its towns and villages, its softly undulat- 
ing woods and stream-embroidered meadowlands, the 
little gods of the open air of this delectable Duchy 
may chance to call and to entreat. 

The Grand Duchy of Luxembourg, a country a 
few square miles smaller than Cheshire, with the 
population of Edinburgh, lies hidden away in a corner 
between Belgium, France and Germany. If it is 
one of the smallest of European countries, it is one 
of the most beautiful. On the way to Switzerland 
and Italy, it is scarcely known to the European 
traveller ; the seeker after natural beauties has long 
regarded it as the Cinderella of the three Ardenne 
sisters. But well may the other two be jealous of 
the dowry Mother Nature gave to the little Duchy. 
Neither the Belgian nor the French Ardennes have 
such a rich and lovely succession of mount and 
valley, of forest and bush, of plain and gorge and 


river. No other little land provides such continual 
and varying delight for the wanderer. There 
Nature's great tome is condensed to a pocket 
volume ; there are her " selected works." How 
her caprice changes at every turn ! How her art 
charms with its infinite variety ! 

Not alone, coquette-like, on its beauty does the 
Duchy rely to cast a spell of attraction over those 
who would know her, for what is Luxembourg 

But that blessed brief 
Of what is gallantest and best 
In all the full-shelved Libraries of Romance ? 

Over it are scattered relics which are the implements 
to help us lift Time's lava and trace a stirring 
story of a long-dead past. We find in it something 
of every ruler of Rome ; we can conjure up the 
Druids' grove. Csesar with his legions takes us 
through the Forest of Arduenna. Huns ravaged 
it from end to end ; Attila left his name there. It 
was of the Empires of Charlemagne and Charles V. 
It gave five Emperors to Germany ; on its outskirts 
the house of HohenzoUern first took root. It bore 
the brunt of the Thirty Years War. It produced 
William the Silent, builder of the Dutch Republic. 
It has " right to pride," for it long held the centre 
of the stage in the great drama of European history. 
To-day, the storms long over, it makes but little 
history, and is happy. Among the great nations of 
Europe it is a little Ruritania ; it might be the child 
of some novelist's imagination, a curious experiment 
in nation-making. It has a charming young Queen 


all its own — the Grand Duchess Marie Louise 
Adelheid ; it is independent and autonomous. The 
Duchy's army consists of just three hundred men 
with half a dozen officers. (It is rather unromantic, 
but still it must be said that the majority of those 
soldiers are generally employed in duties of a civil 
nature — as postmen, railwaymen, and customs 
officials.) Every male citizen whose taxes amount 
to twelve shillings or over per annum is entitled to 
a vote. The monarchy is constitutional ; the Grand 
Duchess nominates the Upper House of fifteen 
members, and there is a Chamber of forty-eight 
deputies, elected for six years, half of its nuinber, 
being returned every three years. In matters of 
government the Grand Duchess is assisted by a 
Conseil de Gouvernement, a sort of Cabinet, 
nominated by the monarch, and composed of four 
members. One is the President of the Upper House, 
the Conseil d'Etat, and three are called " directeurs 
g^n6raux." The four share among them the different 
public departments, and are responsible to Parliament 
for their policy. 

Curiously enough, there is no trial by jury. The 
country is divided into thirteen cantons— there has 
been no petition that the thirteenth should be 
numbered 1 2A or that the thirteen should be reduced 
to twelve or increased to fourteen I — and each has 
its justice de paix. A tribunal d'arrondissement sits 
at Luxembourg and another at Diekirch, and at the 
capital there is the High Court of Justice, which is 
the court of appeal and of cassation. The parlia- 
mentary voting list does duty for the election of the 



local councils ; the Government selects the burgo- 
masters, and not infrequently appoints some one out- 
side the ranks of the elected. 

Education is very highly developed in the Grand 
Duchy, and many of the schools draw pupils from; 
far beyond the country's borders. There are nearly 
eight hundred primary schools, in which education 
is compulsory. Then come about seven hundred 
" adult schools," and above them are the excellent 
High Schools at Luxembourg, Diekirch and Echter- 
nach, the first named having well-organized industrial 
and commercial sections. At Esch-on-Alzette is an 
industrial institute, in which pupils are trained for 
entry into all spheres in the world of business. 
Ettelbriick has a large agricultural school, and in 
the capital is one for the training of teachers and 
another for artisans. The latter, which I saw at 
work, is attended by over four hundred adults, all 
eager to seize opportunities for education which were 
not available when they were young. All those 
schools are under State control, and it must be 
admitted that for a population of little over a quarter 
of a million very excellent educational provision is 
thus made. 

Considering its size, Luxembourg is an extra- 
ordinarily wealthy country. Agriculture is, of 
course, the most important industry. .Wheat, flax, 
hemp and rape-seed are grown in large quantities ; 
in a good season 1,250,000 gallons of wine will 
be produced. Leather, gloves, pottery, cloth, paper, 
beer and spirits and tobacco are mostly made in 
such quantities as to permit of a brisk export trade. 


Especially is this the case with regard to gloves. 
Cattle, too, are reared in large numbers. Next to 
agriculture, the greatest industry is the extraction 
and smelting of iron ore. The canton of Esch is 
blackened and blurred by furnaces, forges and 
foundries, and the Grand Duchy produces no less 
than one-fortieth of the world's supply of iron — a 
tremendously high proportion. German enterprise 
has not been blind to the industrial importance of 
the Grand Duchy. Luxembourg is included in the 
German Customs Union, and the direction of the 
iron mines has come into the hands of a powerful 
German combine . 

Any real or apparent growth in the Germanization 
of the Grand Duchy is looked upon with great dis- 
favour and not a little dismay by the people. There 
is no one a Luxembourger hates quite so much as 
a Prussian, and the German control of the mines, 
which meant the bringing of many German labourers 
into the country, was at first regarded as the thin end 
of the wedge. But the Duchy has recovered her 
peace of mind ; the imported workers are not a 
serious factor in Germaniza,tion. However happy 
the Fatherland, the German emigrant has a curious 
faculty for dismissing it quickly from mind and 
affection. Unlike the Briton, he does not carry his 
national manners and customs and interests with him. 
He allows a new land to absorb him quickly. Many 
Italian labourers have also been introduced, but it 
has been found that both Italians and Germans 
quickly internationalize themselves and exert no 
foreign influence in the country. But if his 


missionaries are bad, the German plods on slowly 
and, he hopes, surely. Luxembourg is in the German 
Zollverein ; her railway system' is under German 
administration ; and at times persistent efforts are 
made to push German forward as the one official 
language of the country. The Duchy is, of course, 
bilingual. The Constitution of 1848 recognized the 
equality of both languages, though French has an 
advantage in being the official, parliamentary, 
administrative and judicial language, and so it holds 
its own fairly easily. In the primary schools instruc- 
tion is given equally in French and German from the 
second year of study onward, but later the favour] 
which French enjoys in administrative circles causes 
it to be almost exclusively used in instruction. 
German, however, counterbalances some of those 
advantages by the fact that it is a good deal easier 
for the people ; the working classes use it almost 
exclusively, and I found that officials were compelled 
to have recourse to it when deahng with rural and 
working people. 

Then the Luxembourgers have their own peculiar 
patois, in which 

There wander, vague and clear, 
Strange vowels, mysterious gutturals. 

And what a mixture that patois is I Just as the 
country itself carries traces of all the peoples who 
have swept across it and dwelt in it, so the people's 
language has borrowed from at least a dozen tongues 
— fram Celtic, Roman, Saxon, French and German, 


with others in between. It is not a written language 
in the full sense of the term. Over the thousand 
square miles of the Duchy it breaks itself up into 
at least four varieties. So any person who does 
write it can always plead " variety " if his spelling 
at Echternach is ridiculed at Wiltz. It is a case of 
spell as you please and as nearly phonetically as 
possible. Broadly, with a warp of Middle German 
a curiously mixed woof has produced a most fantastic 
texture. Saxon of the Conqueror's time and English 
words as they are to-day, French words -with a 
distinct Dutch look, GernUan nouns with their genders 
mixed — all help to make the disarray. Every race 
that has known Luxembourg either slightly or well 
has added an ingredient to the mixture ; inflections 
have gone, and sim'plicity reiglis supreme. Spoken, 
the patois sounds like curious Dutch and bad German 
coming from a worn gramophone. In 1896 a pro- 
posal was put forward to admit the use of the patois 
in ParUament, but was set aside as unconstitutional- 
To the archseologist and the geologist the Grand 
Duchy is extremely interesting. Celtic and Roman 
remains, altars built at the dawn of history, sepulchres 
of many races, magnificent mosaics and Roman roads, 
are still, in a large number of cases, well preserved. 
The geologist will find a very g'reat deal that is 
interesting in this little land. The northern part, 
which is traversed by the Ardenne uplands, is called 
OsUng. " A hundred pinnacles of grey and red- 
rust crags," rough masses of " old red sandstone," 
cut the landscape into quaintest pictures ; high 
plateaux covered with heath, wild ravines like deep 


wounds, wooded heights, valleys graceful and often 
rich in verdure, give Osling a peculiar beauty and 
distinguish it from that of the south, while into 
its slight severity Flora here and there throws her 
striking colours like tropic pearls cast on a sombre 

The name Osling, Oesling, or, as sometimes given, 
Eisling, has suggested to some the meaning of Ice 
Land, on account of the somewhat rigorous climate of 
the north of the Duchy as comipared with the southern 
part. That, however, can scarcely be accepted. A 
reliable authority states : " The term Oesling has 
apparently come to us from the people who reached 
this country from the North. The first syllable, 
sounded variously as os, oes and es, expresses the 
idea of ' link ' (chainon) or ' brow ' (croupe) of 
hills. The Luxembourg dialect still retains the same 
syllable in Schellerois, which means ' shoulder ' or 
'lesser chain' (epaulelnent ou contrefort). Os (as) 
is frequently found in the geog'raphical terininology 
of Sweden to express the same id'ea as Joch, 
Riicken, Strang, as in Stifser Joch, Hunsriick and 

" With regard to the second syllable, ' ling,' it 
belongs to the old Norman language, in which lyng 
means heath (' lande ' or ' bruyere ' in French) . In 
Swedish we have ' Ijung,' in Danish ' lyng,' and in 
English ' ling ' has also been preserved as' 
heath or common heather (Calluna vulgaris). In 
Icelandic the form is the same as in English. The 
result, then, is to give a first meaning' to Osling as 
the heath-covered brows of hills. 


" But there is a second meaning, based on the 
translation of ' ling ' as brightness and light, and 
appUed to snow-covered mountains. Then, Osling 
signifies the region of heath or of snow-covered 

The same authority dismisses the spelling " Eis- 
ling " as absurd, because it leads to the meaning of 
land of heath or of oak (German : Eiche, oajc), 
which is contrary to nature. 

Luxembourg has, too, its own Switzerland, the 
glorious highlands of the east which garb them- 
selves in all the colours of the sunlight. It is a 
pleasant change from the north to come upon the 
charming region, and yet again the south provides 
dehghtful variety for the lover of scenic beauty. 
There the geologist will see in successive gradations 
all the stages of the trias, lias and dogger forma- 
tions, from streaked sandstone to polypier limestone. 
The southern district is called Gutland, and it is a 
country which well deserves its name. Hills of 
moderate height spread from end to end of it, a 
continuation of the sweeping undulations of loveliest 
Lorraine. Its plains are extremely fertile, the vegeta- 
tion being in places luxuriant almost to a semi- 
tropical degree. The variety in the landscape here is 
infinite. The Mosel valley, for instance, is like a 
long wall of pictures by East ; yet not far away 
the Miillerthal presents, as it were, a challenging 
canvas of an Impressionist. All Creation's industry, 
indeed, and her most cunning chiselling have gone 
to give Luxembourg its radiant beauty and the con- 
tinuous, changing surprise which it has. Sea, river. 


rain, wind — all these, through thfe ages, have carved 
the Grand Duchy's glories, and cut them magnifi- 
cently . 

Before we look more closely at the people of our 
delectable Duchy and begin to wander through it, 
let us see what storms of history they have passed 
through. In religion, traditions, language, customs 
and names we can trace the little nation's history 
far back into the dull ages. Coins, weapons, trinkets, 
domestic utensils are still found in her fields in con- 
siderable numbers, and they supply, letter by letter, 
one of the most entrancing stories which Time ha:s 
to tell. The rough relics of the ancient Celtic priest 
and beautiful examples of old Greek art are some- 
times found lying together. Through Luxembourg, 
then, the Gaul had returned from an invasion of 
Greece and left belongings and booty behind. Wave 
after wave of ancient peoples passed over the country, 
each leaving its riddle on the sands to be read and 
added to history. Luxembourg has borrowed from 
all, but, true artist, has kept her individuality, has 
yielded to every impress but has not lost her own 
features. Old Gaul threw her frontiers round the 
land which is Luxembourg to-day. Germanic peoples 
and Celts mixed in and beside the country. By the 
time that Julius Cassar appears on the scene the 
mingUng of these races must have been far advanced, 
for he describes the Trfevirians, dwellers from Mosel 
to Meuse and Rhine, as half Gaul and half German, 
that combination of chivalry and bravery stamped 
deep on Europe to-day. The Roman, too, left his 
mark, and of these three has come that race which 


has stood so well one of the hardest and most fiery 
of existences. 

Schoolboys know well — or ought to^ — how the noble 
Roman dealt with the Trevirians, how he stiffened 
his legions with them, how they helped to smash the 
Nervii ; how Caesar's Trevirian enemy, Indutiomar, 
was defeated, and how he perished in a river which 
must have been one of Luxembourg's now peaceful 
streams ; how the Trevirians fought the cohorts of 
Pompey, and were members of the Pretorian Guard 
and among the finest soldiers of Rome. And in 
Roman times, too, the Forest of Arduenna became 
famous not only for its giant legionaries but for 
its — fleshpots. How fatal was Luxembourg cookery, 
famous still to-day, and praised by more than on© 
ancient writer, to that great Empire ! Was that 
Ardenne art which has lived through the centuries — 
and improved ! — one of the factors which brought 
about the wreck of Rome? At any rate, the Forest 
of Arduenna provided much to heighten the revels of 
decadent Rome. 

Caesar disappeared, but the Roman legions re- 
mained, covering the country with camps and cutting 
it up with roads. Emperors oppressed the people 
and stirred them to angry revolt. Tacitus takes 
up the tale and unfolds the story of how Luxembourg 
was devastated and soaked in blood for the first 
time when the soldiers of Vespasian crushed the 
rebellious Claudius Civilis. At Treves the Emperors 
of Rome held Court, and their presence spread a 
certain amount of prosperity over a wide area, which 
compensated for many generations for all the havoc 


of war. But not for long. Soon the vespers of 
Empire began to sound, and in the long-drawn-out 
agony of Rome the country which we now call 
Luxembourg suffered most terribly. Revolting 
tribes swept in fiercest fury over it ; Huns brought 
desolation. The Roman Empire fell, and the 
Frankish Empire drew Luxembourg within it. Then 
came the violent reign of the Merovingians, dis- 
tinguished mainly for the war waged by the blood- 
thirsty Clovis, and in the smoke and ruin of the 
conflagration he aroused the definite outline of 
Luxembourg became faint and blurred. The Mero- 
vingians left no such traces as Celt and Roman, but 
only scattered weapons and graves. 

Charlemagne then created his Empire and left a 
name. He brought into the Luxembourg country 
thousands of Saxons who fiave left names on the 
map and words, akin to English, in the language of 
the people. With them came the Wiltzes, a tribe of 
Pomerania, who gave iWiltz to Luxembourg and Wilt- 
shire to England. And there was yet another link with 
England. The Normans appeared with fire and sword 
up Rhine and Mosel, penetrating as far as Remich. 

Kings great and small, though mostly small, come 
and go. Luxembourg has to submit to the most 
bewildering changes in allegiance, country and 
frontiers. Now it is part of High Lotharingia, then 
of Low Lotharingia. But gradually, in the welter 
of it all, the little country begins to stand out clearer 
and clearer on the map and in the pages of history. 
A descendant of Charlemagne, with the title of Count 
of Ardenne, makes a fleeting appearance. His son 


and heir, Henry, becomes ruler of High Lotharingia, 
and Henry's brother is Siegfried, founder of the 
House of Luxembourg. 

Near the station at Treves is an ancient building 
used as barracks. Of old it was an abbey, that of 
Saint Maximin, and his tomb. Vast lands belonged 
to it ; its revenue amounted to the enormous sum of 
from 80,000 to 100,000 ducats ; kings delighted to 
honour it ; queens showered gifts upon it ; the monks 
were known far and wide for their learning ; their 
library and treasures were priceless. Time has 
ruthlessly scattered all those glories ; the dust of 
those riches has been strewn between Madrid and 
Darmstadt. But in its time it was renowned as 
few abbeys have been, and to the tomb of St. 
Maximin pilgrims came in great numbers. Beggars 
and princes were among them, and one day Charles 
Martel, grandsire of Charlemagne, was carried and 
laid upon the tomb that he might be cured of his 
sickness. He recovered, and so grateful was he 
that he caused to be added to the domains of the 
monks the eastern portion of the great Merovingian 
Empire over which he ruled. In one of the dis- 
tricts of this territory was Lucilinburhut, as the 
Franks called it, the " little outpost," the name of 
which, changing first to Lutzelbourg, became our 
Luxembourg. It was this little outpost which 
Sieg'fried found — a small, decayed stronghold 
standing high in the air. He strengthened it and 
added greatly to it, and so began to appear that 
great fortress which saw perhaps more war than 
any other has seen between Gibraltar and Belgrade, 


the desire to possess which drew the armies of more 
than one king into the Duchy with unsheathed and 
thirsty swords. 

With Siegfried, first of a long line of spiritual 
and temporal rulers and warriors, the story of feudal 
Luxembourg opens. The line ran from the tenth 
to the fifteenth century. Castles were built on all 
the country's finest heights ; at their bases the little 
villages of serfs grew in the shadow of the over- 
lord's might. The size of the country grew, till it 
was about half a dozen times larger than the Luxem- 
bourg we know to-day. But though the royal house 
was powerful and comparatively enlightened, it was 
seldom quite strong enough to hold the masters of 
the castles of the land in proper leash. These nobles 
played with their lands as a gambler plays Avith 
coins. They sold and mortgaged and made presents 
of their acres here, there and everywhere ; then 
they fought to get them back, and sold them agaih 
when treasure ran low. Of all the figures of this 
period of the history of Luxembourg, the outstanding 
personage is Jean I'Aveugle (John the Blind), Count 
of Luxembourg and King of Bohemia, whose reign 
was war, the universal provider of military strength, 
the roving war-lord, whose life ended at Crdgy, and 
from whose helm the Black Prince tore the three 
feathers with the motto, " Ich Dien," the heritage of 
Princes of Wales to this day. John was a wanderer 
in death as in life ; his bones were moved from 
place to place almost as often as those of another 
wanderer, Columbus. 

His successor was Wenceslas, the first to assume 


the title of Duke of Luxembourg, and for the first 
time the country became a Duchy, to remain so till 
to-day. Under him the country flourished, but, as 
was so often the case in the history of old, good 
work did not long survive its author. His nephew, 
iWenceslas II, who followed him, saw in the fruits 
of good government the wherewithal for dissipation, 
and he created a record, a flatirly hard thing to achieve 
in those days, as wastrel, gambler and drunkard. 
Not only did he undo all the good work of his uncle, 
but he mortgaged the entire Duchy to a number of 
different people. He had a niece, Elizabeth of 
Gorlitz, who had been promised by, him a " dot " of 
over 100,000 florins. He actually gave the oft- 
pawned Duchy as security I She signed over her 
rights to her nephew, PhiHp of Burgundy, for an 
immediate and an annually payable consideration. 
In this curious transaction we see one of the founda- 
tions of the gigantic realm of Charles V which Philip 
was beginning to hammer into being. He had to 
fight for his aunt's gift. The people tried to hold the 
Luxembourg citadel, but they failed. The Luxem- 
bourgers appealed to the Duke of Saxony, who was 
coming to their aid, when a solid cash offer from 
Philip bought him off. 

The coming of Philip marks clearly and distinctly 
the close of feudalism ; but Luxembourg's evil days 
are far from being ended. Ambition was still to 
stride across the Duchy with heavy footsteps and to 
leave its traces red with blood and black with ruin ; 
it was still to be for a lengthy time M'ight's tilting- 
ground. Philip did not take the title of Duke of 


Luxembourg, and his son Charles the Bold (one of 
whose wives was a sister of Edward IV of England) 
had to go and buy it from — the King of Poland I 
That royal personage acquired it by miarrying the 
daughter of Sigismlund, one of the last rulers of 
Siegfried's line. Sharles was warlike and blood- 
thirsty, and his wars soaked the Duchy in blood 
and tears. He left a daughter, whose marriage with 
the Archduke Maximilian transferred the country to 
the Austrian House. When Maximilian came to the 
throne he ridded himself of some parts of the wide 
realms over which he had dominion, and Luxem- 
bourg, Burgundy and the Netherlands became the 
domain of Philip, his son, who married Jeanne of 
Arragon and Castille. Their son, Charles, was given 
the title of Duke of Luxembourg, the first title of 
the glittering array of which Charles V was eventu- 
ally to be able to boast, and Luxemibourg was the 
first piece of earth over which there ruled that 
sovereign who was to sway the destinies of an empire 
outshining that of Rome. Though Luxembourg, 
under that Empire one of the United States of the 
Netherlands, was allowed to keep its own customs 
and laws and rule itself by means of a local council, 
it had little cause to rejoice tha,t it belonged to 
the realm over which Charles ruled. Once again 
the Duchy became a battle-ground ; the Germans 
and the French wrought equal and awful havoc within 
its borders, and the now powerful fortress, the envy 
of all, lured armies to its conquest. Once it fell 
before the soldiery of the Dukes of Orleans and 
Guise, but the forces of Charles quickly took it from 


them again. War, too, made an additional drain 
upon the country. Towards the end of his reign 
Charles had an ever-increasing need for money, and 
he had no compassion for the little country which 
had stood so faithfully by him. He put heavy, loads 
of taxation upon it, wringing his tolls most merci- 
lessly from the people, adding religious persecution 
to the tortures he imposed. 

An empire in which people were so treated was 
doomed to break up, and when Charles's son, 
Philip II, ruled, the inevitable split came. North 
and South Netherlands ranged against each other 
and across the Duchy, which rerqained faithful to 
Philip, he hurled his avalanches of Spanish and 
German troops against the rebelHous north. Luxem- 
bourg was once more one great field of war. Under 
the viceroyalty of Albert of Austria, who had married 
Philip's daughter, the struggle continued with un- 
abated fury. Then a little more than a decade of 
peace intervened, and after that the Thirty Years' 
War broke out. It is not necessary to recount here 
all the horrors of that gigantic struggle — one of the 
most hideous in the whole of the history of Europe 
or the world. Death, ruin, torture, famine and 
pestilence garnered frightful harvests, and all 
these terrors appeared to reach their height in and 
around Luxembourg. However many people were 
slaughtered, however many towns and villages were 
razed to the ground, war and all its attendant woes 
could not wipe out Luxembourg. Its citizens were 
made of stern stuff, of the hard, imperishable material 
from which real nations are cast. 


Peace came, and the Duchy remained part of the 
Empire of Charles V, the greatness of which was 
fast ebbing. Spain and Germany waned ; Louis the 
Fourteenth's ambitions were soon reddening and 
blackening many fair lands, and he coveted another — 
Luxembourg. Into the Duchy he sent the redoubt- 
able Marshal Boufflers, who dealt sternly with castle 
after castle. The marks of his visitation are still 
to be seen to-day on many a wall. When the resist- 
ance of the Duchy had been weakened by this 
method, siege was laid to the capital, and after 
an investment of a little more than a month the 
Spanish garrison surrendered the place. Under the 
great " Sun King " there was peace for a while and 
fair prosperity ; but Louis did not believe in the 
little Duchy's retaining its rights and privileges, and 
these he cut away. In spite, however, of that denial 
of nationality, Luxembourg flourished. But when 
Louis was faced by the formidable combination of 
England, Spain, Holland and Germany, the whole 
gamut of the horror of war and disorder was experi- 
enced once again. Peace found the country taken 
from France ; the Spanish returned with all the 
evils of misgovemment and tyranny, and a Dutch 
garrison was set down in the fortress of Luxem- 
bourg's capital. Then Austria and France quarrelled 
over the Spanish succession on the death of the 
weak Charles II. The Elector of Bavaria, who 
possessed himself of the citadel of Luxembourg, made 
a bid to win the Netherlands, and added fuel to the 
fire. All that concerns us here, however, is that 
he was only partially successful, and the Treaty of 


Utrecht robbed him even of the little he gained, and 
handed our Duchy over to Austria. That was a 
surprise, but it also turned out to be a very consider- 
able blessing. It gave, in the first place, peace to 
a war- racked land for over three-quarters of a 
century, a period of time in which Austria made a 
laudable effort to set the feet of the Luxembourgers 
firmly on their mother earth. They were quick to 
take advantage of the respite and the opportunities 
it presented, and prosperity and progress, not only 
material, were the result under the fairly genial 
reforming influences of Austria, guided by Charles VI, 
Marie Th6rese, and, to some extent, by Joseph II, 
who was somewhat too hard on the religious orders 
for Luxembourg's taste. 

But great historic events were soon to turn the 
thoughts of Luxembourg from domestic affairs and 
from the strengthening of its nationality. From the 
paths of peace it was quickly and roughly called 
back again to the ways of war. The French Revolu- 
tion broke out. Everj^thing quickly fell before the 
relentless forces of the RepubUc, but Luxembourg's 
fortress held out from the end of October 1794 
until the beginning of June 1795, when its ten 
thousand defenders gave way before the stern enemy. 
Famine. The unpoetic revolutionaries labelled the 
Duchy after its annexation to the Republic " Le 
D^partement des Forets " ! Whatever " Liberte, 
Egalit6, F rater nite " meant elsewhere, they, as the 
Republicans interpreted them in conquest, made 
Luxembourg a hell. All the more hideous were the 
extortions and rapacities of the French, seeing that 



they came after a long era of peace in which the 
Luxembourgers had outUved the horrors of war and 
oppression. The most awful of tyrannies were in- 
dulged in by the so-called emissaries of the latest 
freedom and the rights of man. The country was 
goaded into revolution, and the brave but ill-starred 
Peasants' War was the result. It was repressed in 
a wild orgy of the most heartless cruelty, but at 
least the fiery spirit of the people drew Napoleon's 

The French Empire rose and went quickly to its 
ruin. The Congress of Vienna carved out Europe 
anew, and did it badly. Belgium' and Holland 
became the kingdom of William I. That monarch 
was stripped of Nassau, which became Prussian, and 
received the Grand Duchy of Luxembourg in return 
for it ; the Grand Duchy becamfe at the same time 
part of the German Confederation, with a Prussian 
garrison in Luxembourg — a most absurd arrange- 
ment ; all east of Our, Sure and Mosel was handed 
over to Prussia, some compensation being given to 
the Duchy on the opposite border. But the re- 
arrangement was not final. The Belgians rose in 
revolt, and from 1830 to 1839 everything was in 
disorder. Belgium and Holland settled their differ- 
ences by the Treaty of London, and at the same time 
Luxembourg's final shape upon the map was decided. 
Whenever the province's bounds have been fixed, that 
process has been accomplished by cutting pieces off 
it. And so it was on this occasion. What we now 
know as Belgian Luxembourg was given to Belgium, 
and the result of that geographical operation was 


the Grand Duchy of Luxembourg as the map of 
Europe shows it to-day. 

Only once more was there to be a war alarm 
before the country settled down to that prosperity 
and contentedness which peace alone can bring, to 
that happiness which is achieved by making no his- 
tory. When the German Confederation fell in 1866, 
the Prussians did not withdraw their garrison placed 
in Luxembourg when the Congress of Vienna handed 
it over in " a sort of " way to the Confede:^ation. 
This annoyed France, which also thought that she 
had some very considerable right to the country, 
seeing that Prussia had been having so much of her 
own way elsewhere in the matter of territory. But, 
replied Prussia, the Duchy is more akin to Germany 
than France. The dispute brought the nations, so 
soon to meet in the deadly strug'gle of '70, to the 
verge of war. But the battle-cloud did not burst ; 
the Powers settled the matter by making the Duchy 
an independent and neutral State and deciding that 
the fortifications of the capital should be razed. 
And so it was. The Prussian garrison marched 
home again, and under the supervision of a French 
and a Prussian officer the noble walls of the great 
citadel were clumsily blown to bits. The long ages 
of warfare were over ; the coming of the final peace 
was celebrated by felling the towers of as proud 
a fortress as the god of war ever rejoiced over., 
Grass and moss cUmb up over the ruins, roses grow 
on the grim redans, trees there are instead of towers 
— Luxembourg's fighting days are a memory ; " the 
curtains of yesterday drop down, the curtains of 


to-morrow roll up " ; and let us hope that the 
alchemy of peace will never again be interrupted 
in its beneficent processes. 

Yet the arrangement which robbed Luxembourg 
of its seductive fortress did not come a moment too 
soon. As the last turrets of the citadel were blasted, 
away to the south the guns rumbled ; France and 
Germany were opening their great trial of strength 
of 1870. But this time the waves of war did not 
sweep over Luxembourg. Since then the Grand 
Duchy has but a short story to tell. On the death 
of William III, King of the Netherlands, in 1890, 
Adolf, Duke of Nassau, by virtue of a family 
pact, became Grand Duke of independent Luxem- 
bourg. He reigned till 1905, when his son William 
succeeded him. The Grand Duke William died in 
February 1 9 1 2, leaving seven daughters, and now the 
eldest, Marie Louise Adelheid, who came of age 
shortly after her father's death, is Grand Duchess 
of Luxembourg. Such is the long ordeal through 
which the people of Luxembourg and their country 
have passed. I doubt if any other land can set forth 
one equally terrible or drawn out to such a length. 

These great trials have left a people to-day hardy, 
progressive, hospitable and honest. They are hard- 
working too. Prosperity reigns, and in the Duchy 
now there is very little poverty, and one never meets 
a beggar. No class distinctions reign in the land, 
and the people are extremely religious. They may 
be, to those from great countries, big cities and daily, 
almost hourly, newspapers, old-fashioned in thought, 
and superstitious, but one cannot help seeing that. 


whatever Roman Catholicism has done elsewhere, 
it has certainly had no evil effects in our delectable 
Duchy. To be fair, of course, Roman Catholicism 
is often blamed for what a southern climate is really 
responsible. In Luxembourg the climate is all 
that can be desired ; the summer is delightful, the 
winter neither too long nor too severe. So we get 
a people sturdy in mind and body, children of Nature, 
upright and pure, beUeving in dreams and prayer, 
and, living in a romantic land, fond of endless tales 
of fairies and of their folk-lore, saint -worshippers, 
happy in the sun, bidding it good morning and good 
night with prayer. 

But they are not at all a bigoted people. Con- 
sider this, remembering that at least 99 per cent, 
of them are Roman Catholics, and, what is more, 
extremely devout Catholics. Last year an Education 
Bill was brought forward in Parliament by the 
Liberal-Socialist " Bloc." That measure had the 
effect of making religious instruction to all intents 
and purposes optional and dependent on the wish of 
the parent. In the giving of that instruction a good 
deal more responsibility was thrown upon the priests. 
They rose against the Bill, using the whole force of 
their matchless organization to stir up sufficient 
opposition to kill it. But no : the people, convinced 
that the measure would be a useful one, would not 
be stirred. It went through Parliament, and then 
came before the Grand Duchess for signature. And 
it was in this instance that Luxembourg's young 
ruler gave evidence that she is going to be a constitu- 
tional ruler at all costs. There can be no doubt 


that all the pressure of the Roman Catholic Church 
was brought to bear upon her to veto the measure. 
The power of that influence may be gauged by the 
fact that had the Grand Duchess's mother still been 
regent, as she was till but a month or two earlier, 
the Bill, it is said, would never have become law. 
Yet the Grand Duchess, without hesitation, signed 
it. A Sunday or two later, from every pulpit came 
fulminations against " la nouvelle loi scolaire," and 
some were bold enough to hurl thinly disguised 
threats against the Grand Duchess herself. The 
Church announced that it would refuse to work under 
the Act. But Luxembourg refused to be greatly 
moved ; the Grand Duchy stood by the law and its 
young Queen. The Grand Duchess had just pre- 
viously given proof that she takes her high duties 
seriously, and does not intend to be a mere figure- 
head. One of her first acts after she took the reins 
of power was to recall a measure which had been 
vetoed during the short regency and give it her 
sanction ! 

Beautiful, highly educated, simple in her tastes, 
devoted to her work and her country, the Grand 
Duchess is adored by her people. They worship 
her all the more because she is so thoroughly 
Luxembourgian at heart. During the two previous 
reigns German influence was supreme at Court. That 
accounts for the great inroads which the Germans 
made in all directions in the Grand Duchy. But 
under the young Queen that is so no more, and to 
be Luxembourger is not now a drawback. Worth, 
not a German name or title, wins its way at the 


simply conducted yet enlightened Court of the Grand 
Duchy. It has pleased the people immensely that 
the young ruler has shown herself so thoroughly 
patriotic, despite the strong influences which must 
demand a deviation from the path at times. Long 
may the Grand Duchess rule over her beautiful 
Ruritania 1 

The people, of course, are mainly agriculturists, 
and in perhaps no other country is such great atten- 
tion paid to the culture of the soil. Agricultural 
instruction is an extremely important part of educa- 
tion, and the Government renders every possible 
assistance to the people. " Agriculture," said a 
prominent Luxembourg authority to me, " is really 
several sciences in one. It would be absurd to think 
that the best can be got out of the land unless those 
who work it are properly trained and can have, 
when it is necessary, the most up-to-date advice 
on every possible point. We endeavour to live up 
to those two maxims. If a man's land is poor we 
put it right for him ; if he wants stock we obtain 
it for him from the best sources and provide him 
with it at the lowest possible figure, giving, wherever 
required, most liberal credit. The advanced state 
of agriculture shows that that policy is highly 
successful, and its progress is of enormous value to 
the country and to the people. We pay great atten- 
tion, too, to afforestation ; yet, as you know, the 
scenery in our little country loses none of its natural 
charm — does not look in the slightest degree ' made ' 
or artificial. In no country in the world, I believe, 
are those who intend to devote themselves to agri- 


culture so well and carefully educated, and nowhere 
is the path before them made so smooth. That 
education is not at all expensive — in fact, I think 
I may say that nowhere is it so cheap ; and we have 
people who come even from England to take advan- 
tage of our educational system, not only in its agri- 
tural branches but in all its stages. To such, of 
course, training is somewhat more expensive than 
it is to the native-born, but still cheaper than almost 
anywhere else in Europe. And after a pupil has 
finished his edticational course he does not find his 
way barred or difficult owing to conditions of land 
tenure such as exist in other countries. Here we 
have no land hunger, for the land really 'bel'ongs 
to the people. There are no great estates held 
up by wealthy landlords, and from the State or the 
commune land can be obtained, can be purchased 
or rented. Our law of succession, too, prevents 
large holdings from remaining in one hand and 
being probably neglected, or at least not developed as 
fully as possible. Property is not left entirely to 
an eldest son, but must be equally divided amongst 
all the children. We have therefore no younger 
sons, or daughters for that matter, forced to abandon 
the land. On the death of their father all find 
themselves in possession of a plot of land, and if it 
is small so much greater is the stimulus given to 
cultivate it to the best advantage. And it is never 
difficult to add to it if desired." 

So the little Grand Duchy flourishes. It does 
not waste its strength on the vain things, but applies 
it to the things which count. It is about the most 


serious little nation that exists, and yet no country is 
happier. An all-sufficing simplicity reigns, and long 
may the unsettling factors of a restless civilization 
halt at its borders and leave it with its lowlier ways, 
which lead most surely to all that is best in nation- 
hood. That the sunbeams of success and content 
will long brighten those paths will be the ardent 
wish of all those who wander by its heights and 
plains and valleys, and learn to know its people, who 
are akin in so much to ourselves- — a delightful land, 
in which 

You shall be lost, and learn 
New being, and forget 
The world, till your return 
Shall bring your first regret. 


A rose-red city, half as old as Time. 




The most devout worshipper of the open road will 
find it difficult to tear himself away from Luxem- 
bourg's capital, even after he has wandered through 
it from end to end and seen everything there is to 
see. The little city has a lure all its own. Beauty, 
with her deft fingers, and Romance, with her long 
and patient toil, have done their work with infinite 
pains and a delightful completeness of collaboration. 
It requires art to set a fortress down in fairyland 
without outraging all the proprieties ; yet here it 
has been done, and if Romance now rests upon 
her weighty laurels Beauty still works on, tirelessly 
spinning her web over the works of war. Those 
fair partners have, perhaps, nowhere else in Europe 
worked together with such delightful effect. The 
little city has aspects endlessly new, a subtle, com- 
pelling charm which will fast breed in the most 
confirmed country-lover Charles Lamb's " low urban 

The upper town is high " in Sonne und Luft," on 
a great rock, on three sides of which two demure 
little streams, aided, it may be, by some power of 
the underworld, have cut deep fosses. Under the 



sheltering height the low town nestles, while high 
over it runs a network of imposing viaducts. The 
tiny Petrusse, a filmy, silken thread of a river, having 
all to itself a vale which the Thames might now 
and again envy, twists round the southern side of the 
high town. From the opposite direction comes the 
Alzette, into whose valley powder-mill and cloth 
factory have crept. The little Petrusse marries the 
Alzette in quietest bridal and takes its name, 
and the river sweeps along the eastern side of the 
citadel in a huge S, through which the railway sends 
the dollar sign. Heights look across the valley at 
heights ; fortresses, which once grinned at one 
another with their teeth of carmon, now share an 
equal peace and are one in their powerlessness. 
Luxembourg, once the inland Gibraltar, is a little 
peaceful city of infinite loveliness, retaining all the 
best of what the years have bestowed, and constantly 
renewing its youth. 

If it was an inland Gibraltar, it is now another 
Bruges, wdth its bridged ravines and rivers. It has 
more than a touch of Bruges and something beyond 
a mere tinge of Benares. It retains the marks of 
its conquerors. Buildings are to be seen which an 
Austrian must have built ; others proclaim clearly 
that their architects had something in them of the 
spirit of those who reared the Alhambra and Burgos 
Cathedral. Then down, in the low tovra the people 
live as they must have lived in the reign of Charle- 
magne. Narrow ruelles and age-old dwellings recall 
a long past. Dim twilight there carries one back 
to the time of Siegfried, and makes one see a primi- 


tive world. Fading day, too, makes even more 
impressive that towering, ruined citadel which in its 
day was menaced by the " iron chard " now of 
Spaniard and German, now of Frenchman and 
Austrian, and held by all in turn. And during the 
long summer days how beautiful is this flower-city ! — 
for so it is, resplendent with its roses, for which 
Luxembourg is so justly famous far and wide. The 
visitor becomes almost convinced that this old for- 
tress has now a nature-lover for governor. It is 
" roses, roses all the way." How that Eve in the 
Aztec's Garden of Eden would have been tempted 
by those Gloires de Dijon, climbing many a wall in 
all their glory of buff and yellow, orange and fawn ! 
Then there are proud Marechals, certainly in place 
in an ancient fortress — Marechal Niel, splendid in 
yellow regimentals, and Marechal Vaillant, in full- 
dress crimson. Along rose-scented alleys the large 
golden balls of a Cloth of Gold Noisette bloom 
shyly in the glorious summer days ; many paths 
are painted in the paradise colours of scarlet and 
white and tender pink by Provence, Bourbon, Scotch, 
Tuscany, Damask and Chinese tea roses. Luxem- 
bourg has indeed much for the rose-lover, and is 
the home of many delightful old rose-growers, men 
of the order of most ancient gentlemen — gardeners, 
ditchers and grave-diggers. Trees and terraces top 
the dizzy walls, and where once' the grim, bare battle- 
ments frowned mosses spread ever wider and wider 
their soft, fadeless carpets. 

Goethe, in October 1792, made a short stay in 
Luxembourg, which charmed him greatly. In his 


"Memoirs" he speaks of its grandeur, its gravity 
and its grace. The Monks' Vale, Pfaffenthal, he 
calls " a pledge of peace and rest, though every 
look upwards recalls war and violence and ruin." 
" Luxembourg," he added, " resembles nothing but 
itself." And that is true. Life in the little city 
goes very peacefully and pleasantly. With its 23,000 
inhabitants, it is perhaps the most prosperous town 
there is of its size. It is, of course, a capital, with 
its Court and Government departments, and these 
alone give it a definite position of importance. But 
it is not content with that. Factories of various 
kinds dot the lower town, and year by year the upper 
town looks across the ravines to see new streets 
and buildings spreading themselves farther and still 
farther to the south and to the west. The little city, 
once oppressed and circumscribed by the limits of 
a fortress, has grown enormously in the genial atmo- 
sphere of peace. 

Luxembourg used to possess a most miserable 
little railway station, which gave visitors the worst 
possible first impression. They had to carry their 
luggage to where the carriages in which to drive up 
to the town might or, far more probably, might 
not be. A long wait was generally the rule., But 
now all that has been changed. There are porters 
and public vehicles in plenty, and the station has 
been entirely rebuilt on a generous scale, the architect 
having skilfully adapted eighteenth-century German 
style to fit in with modern requirements. The new 
station, too, has an excellent restaurant and a chef 
with whose art Colonel Newnham-Davis would find 
no fault. 


The station is at the extremity of the new suburb 
of Hollerich, a rapidly rising part of the city, with 
many fine buildings, standing upon what is known 
as the Bourbon Plateau, an extensive eminence cut 
off from the old town by the Petrusse ravine. In 
ancient times the plateau was strongly fortified, and 
from near the station it is said that a subterranean 
passage ran to the Bock, the chief part of the citadel 
of old. The Mercier Champagne ComJ)any utilize 
a large part of these old underground excavations for 
storing their stocks of wine, and an application by 
a visitor who wishes to see those ancient casements 
will meet with a prompt and generous permission. 
Four million bottles of champagne are generally 
stored there. 

In driving to the upper town from the station, 
a drive of a mile or so, the visitor should instruct 
his driver to go via the new Avenue de la Libert6, 
so as to enter the town at its most picturesque spot. 
At the end of the thoroughfare are two magnificent 
buildings — one the headquarters of the Credit Foncier 
Luxembourgeois, and the other the offices of the 
Chemins de Fer d'Alsace-Lorraine. They face the 
handsome new Adolf Bridge, completed in the 
summer of 1903 at a cost of 1,500,000 francs, 
and built by M. Sdjourn^, the engineer whose great 
feat was the Paris-Lyon -Mediterranean Railway. It 
crosses the deep Petrusse valley in a single stone 
span, 260 feet in length and 135 feet in height — the 
largest of its kind in the world. The workmanship, 
in Sure freestone, is delightfully graceful. From 
the bridge a magnificent view of the town is obtained. 


and also of the prettily laid-out park deep down on 
the banks of the Petrusse. 

From a little beyond the bridge to the west, on 
the far side of the Avenue Marie Th^r^se, lies the 
City Park. It is officially so called, but the people 
do not forget that it runs, a semicircle of silver, from 
the Petrusse first north and then west to the Alzette, 
over the ground where brave Luxembourgers often 
stood desperately at bay behind the fort's strong 
walls. So it is, popularly, called the " Jardin du 
G6n6ral," for here the commander of the forces of 
old no doubt cultivated a pretty little patch of garden 
amid the sombre surroundings of war. The park 
stretches just like the border of a huge, embroidered 
fan, and from the centre of the high town handsome 
streets radiate through it. It was in 1872, a couple 
of years after the overthrow of the fortifications, 
that it was decided to lay out the park. Not a little 
of the beauty of the C6te d'Azur is evident, for the 
work was carried out by M> Edouard Andr^, who 
designed the gardens of Monte Carlo, and his work 
here took fifteen years to complete. Plants and 
flowers in surprising variety are everywhere ; the 
turf is exquisite ; there are shady trees and pretty 
little vales. From the rough ruins of the fortress 
walls the designer of the garden-park has produced 
the order of varied beauty. Between the Avenue 
Marie Therese and the Avenue Monterey is a well- 
kept botanical garden, and a little farther on is the 
Villa Louvigny. This is a restaurant, standing 
in the most picturesquely rugged part of the park, 
where in warlike days was one of the bastions of 


this imposing redoubt, which, garbed in the beauty, 
of peace, is still haunted by flickering snatches 
of warlike memories. The proprietor of the res- 
taurant will show visitors the subterranean passages 
here. This delightful spot is much frequented in 
summer by the Luxembourgers, and concerts, and 
frequent cycle races, too, are held in the evenings. 
By pleasant pathways the tour of the Jardin du 
G^n^ral can be made, and it is a delightful walk, 
ending, near the Pescatore Institute, at a terrace 
from which a magnificent view of the Pfaffenthal 
Clausen, the Bock and the valley of the Eisch spreads 
before the eyes. 

The Pescatore Institute is a large and handsome 
four-story building standing in pretty grounds of 
about twelve acres in extent. It is a haven for any 
descendants of the founder or any citizen of Luxem- 
bourg who may fall upon bad times. M. Jean Pierre 
Pescatore, who had been Minister of the Netherlands 
in Paris, left, on his death in 1853, a sum of half a 
million francs for the purpose of founding such an 
institute, with the provision that the work was not 
to be commenced until the money, lying at compound 
interest, had doubled itself, thus ensuring that there 
should be ample funds to set the refuge on such a 
financial basis as would make certain that it could be 
carried on upon an adequate and generous scale. 
The park in which is the Pescatore Institute is the 
highest part of the plateau on which Luxembourg 
stands. It towers high above the Pfaffenthal and 
the Alzette, and affords an extensive vista over the 
heights on the opposite side of the river. A beauti- 


fully, green wooded slope, cut by paths, leads down 
to the left bank of the stream. 

A view of a different kind greets the visitor who 
enters the town by the south-eastern side instead 
of the south-western. Following the Avenue de la 
Gare, the upper town is reached by a fine viaduct 
over the Petrusse. It has twenty-five arches, the 
highest having a height of about 130 feet. On the 
left the visitor looks up the stream to the Adolf 
Bridge and down upon the prettily laid-out grounds 
by the Petrusse's banks. On the right is a lovely 
view of part of the lower town and the Alzette valley. 
Luxembourg, indeed, is a " ville de viaducs," having 
a mile and a half of them altogether. To carry 
the railway along the eastern side of the town three 
viaducts are necessary, the largest of which is about 
half a mile long, with forty-two arches, thirteen of 
which are over 150 feet high. 

The upper town is most romantic and interesting. 
Many of the streets are old and narrow ; others, 
broad and new. Some buildings are in the latest 
styles of architecture ; others recall the stormy 
history of city and duchy. Yet old and new blend 
admirably. Nothing that the latest generations have 
erected looks at all out of place in a city the lustre 
of which must always be that of the past. Where 
modernity is most in evidence, Luxembourg looks like 
a little Brussels. It would be interesting to know 
what proportion of the population consists of bakers, 
and how many people have jewellery shops, for bakery 
and jewellery establishments strike the visitor as being 
extraordinarily numerous for a place of its size. The 


new-comer who wishes to buy some of the deUghtful 
cakes which the bakers of the city produce should be 
warned that they are baked early in the week ; the 
people buy them on Thursdays or Fridays to con- 
sume on Saturdays or Sundays. On Friday, there- 
fore, they are scarce, and a Saturday's quest is 
hopeless. Luxembourg has an important open-air 
market held in the Place Guillaume II, the roomy 
square which is the centre of the city from the point 
of view of the visitor, for in its neighbourhood are 
all the " Sehenswiirdigkeiten." The peasants of the 
Duchy, as seen at market, are a particularly high 
type, well dressed, clean, good-looking, intelligent 
and straightforward in their dealings. In this par- 
ticular market is a peculiar feature. All eggs are 
divided into two classes. At one spot I noticed a 
big sign which read : " Place pour la vente des 
CEufs frais." At another part this was the legend : 
" Place pour la vente des oeufs conserves." I am 
afraid that all market authorities do not take such 
great care to guard the rights of the egg-eater I 

The Place Guillaume is the largest in the town. 
In the centre is the equestrian statue of William II, 
King of the Netherlands, erected in 1884, the highly 
decorative work of Antonin Merci6. William, who 
was the Prince of Orange present at the battle of 
Waterloo, is represented as entering Luxembourg — 
the occasion was in 1842 — and responding to the 
enthusiastic reception given him by his subjects who 
so warmly and loyally admired him. And they had 
much to thank him for. To celebrate the visit com- 
memorated by the statue he gave the Luxembourgers 


many of their rights, including their franchise laws, 
which they still enjoy to-day. The pedestal has the 
coats of arms of the cantons of the Duchy. 

On the south side of the square is the heavily 
imposing Hotel de Ville, which, commenced in 1830, 
was not finished for fourteen years. It contains the 
Pescatore Museum in the " grande salle " on the 
first floor, a handsome hall used by the deputies as 
their place of meeting from 1848 to i860. Here 
a large collection of French and Dutch pictures and 
objets d'art awaits a more suitable and a permanent 
home. But though these have only a temporary 
abiding -place in the Hotel de Ville, the visitor 
cannot help thinking that it would be worth while 
to place the exhibits in at least some sort of order. 
Nothing is shown off to advantage. The exhibits 
constitute another of M. Pescatore's benefactions. 
He bequeathed to Luxembourg all the art treasures 
which decorated his Paris and St. Cloud residences, 
treasures which had been acquired by large pur- 
chases from the collections of William H, Louis 
Philippe and others. There are about a hundred 
old and modern pictures, including water-colours by 
Decamps, Prud'hon, Charlet, Callow, Cattermole and 
Horace Vernet, sketches by Marc and Clerget, pastels 
by Vidal, etchings and numerous works in marble 
and bronze. It is an extremely creditable " one- 
man collection," and many of the works of art which 
it contains are of considerable value. In the museum 
is also the collection given to the municipality by 
M. Lippm:ann, an eminent Amsterdam banker. 

From the eastern side of the Place Guillaume a 

Photo by\ 

IDr, Fisc/ter, Luxembourg. 



short street, the rue de la Reine,' leads to the rue 
de Gouvemement, on the far side of which stands 
the Grand Ducal Palace. It is an exceedingly 
beautiful building, though the narrow streets by 
which it is surrounded do not permit of the full 
extent of its delicate charm being effectively dis- 
played. It is entered direct from the street, no 
gardens surrounding it, and has a noble simplicity 
most strikingly in keeping with an unpretentious 
people and also with their splendid past. Interior 
and exterior both tell Luxembourg's story ; the art 
of brush and chisel and needle deck it. It was 
Count Ernest of Mansfeld, Philip IPs favourite, who, 
in 1572-3, built it in Spanish Renaissance style. 
It is certainly a tribute to the art and taste of the 
age, and, despite frequent enlargements and renova- 
tions, its original beauty, inside and out, has been 
very carefully preserved. The outer walls are 
decorated with delicate arabesques in bas-relief, and 
at each side of the front a hexagonal tower, lof 
light and perfect design, rises from the first floor. 
The two towers are joined by a balcony of iron- 
work. Since the time of the Grand Duke Adolf 
buildings in the neighbourhood have been cleared 
away to permit of extensions, and the interior has 
been renovated on a princely scale. Entering from 
the rue de Gouvernement, a grand staircase leads 
to the elegant apartments on the first floor. The 

' All names of places in Luxembourg are in French and 
German. Sometimes the French one is in common use, as 
in Jardin du General, sometimes the German, as in Pfaffenthal. 
I invariably use that in more common use. 


stair is a superb piece of work, its harmony of 
line and great width compensating for the lack of 
height and the somewhat crowded decoration general 
in the age from which it dates. The grand salons 
on the first floor contain full-length portraits in oils 
of the Grand Dukes, heads of the House of Nassau, 
and the State dining-room, which looks out on the 
court at the rear, is hung with priceless Gobelin 
tapestries depicting scenes from the Odyssey. On 
the exterior of the palace there are relics which 
tell us of bygone ages, of memorable events and 
historical local happenings. Under a small door, 
in the entrance hall leading to the court, may be 
seen the monograms of Siegfried, the founder of 
the city, and of the good Countess Ermesinde. She, 
tradition has it, was the daughter of Melusina, the 
Undine of the Alzette, who, taking human shape, 
impersonated the consort of Henry IV. It was 
Ermesinde who first gave the city its municipal free- 
dom, and she did much in addition to further its 
prosperity. One of the stones supporting the balcony 
has upon it the Cross of Burgundy or of St. Andrd ; 
it dates from' the time of Burgundy's supremacy in 
the land, and also contains the jewel of the Golden 
Fleece. Inscriptions are numerous. On one side 
of the fagade there is one extolling the merits of 
the Count of Mansfeld, doubtless a self-performed 
task ! On the wall at the rear of the older portion 
of the palace there are to be seen bas-reliefs of 
the ornamented casques of Henry VII and of Jean 
I'Aveugle. Below that of Henry is his motto, 
" Judicate Juste." Under the familiar one of Jean 


is " Ich dien." Another inscription is " Libertate 
Prosperitas," appropriately enough below the carved 
head of Countess Ermesinde. Melusina is also there 
in relief. 

The palace has had some illustrious guests in its 
time. Louis XIV stayed there in 1687. Racine 
was one of his suite. Napoleon I, in 1 804, re- 
mained there for several days. It is open to view 
by the public when the Grand Ducal family is 
absent. The Chamber of Deputies continues the 
frontage of the palace. But with what a change ! 
In passing to it the eye goes from g*race to Gothic 
tas teles sness, from art to artifice. It is a modern 
building, built in 1857, and I hope Luxembourg 
will not perpetrate any more such eyesores. 

In face of the Chamber of Deputies ends the rue 
Nicolas, the chief building in which is the H&tel du 
Gouvernement, a massive structure in Renaissance 
style, which need not detain the explorer. The 
street leads into the rue de Notre Dame, where, 
on the left, rises one of the finest and most interest- 
ing buildings of the city — Notre Dame Cathedral, 
commonly called by the people the Church of St. 
Nicolas. Built during the latter part of the sixteenth 
century and the earlier part of the seventeenth, it 
was, together with some of the buildings which 
surround it, a convent of the Jesuits, and is reared 
on the spot where stood an ancient Franciscan 
convent. The magnificent old church has several 
remarkable features, and probably the first of which 
the visitor will learn is the extraordinary chime of 
bells. The bells are contained in a tower of most 


beautiful proportions, and every quarter of an hour 
they ring out a number of chords of Luxembourg 
airs and well-known folk-songs. The bells are most 
delightfully toned. Rising on hi^h above the city, 
the tower was very often a mark for the guns of 
the besiegers in Luxembourg's long warlike times. 
The marks of cannon-balls are still noticeable on 
the tower, as they are on the beautiful fagade, 
especially on the tympanum which carries the 
Spanish coat of arms. The portal is a perfect piece 
of Renaissance work. Two gracefully carved pillars 
on either side and statues, niches and arabesques 
are combined with really exquisite taste. On the left 
as one enters rises the cenotaph of Jean I'Aveugle. 
It is surrounded by a group of four life-size Biblical 
figures, and carries this inscription : — 

D.O.M hoc sub altare 

servatur Joannes, Rex 

Bohemiae, Comes luxem 

burgensis, Henrici 

VII imperatoris filius, 

Caroli IV, imperatoris pater, 

Wenceslai et Sigismundi 

imperatorum avus, princeps 

animo maximus, obiit 

MCCCXL, 30 Aug. 

The inscription is, of course, not now correct. After 
his death, at Cregy, the blind warrior-king was buried 
in the Church of St. John, in the suburb of Grund, 
in the lower tovwi, and the monument now in the 
Cathedral was erected over his tomb. But, as I 
have already said, John was a wanderer in death 


as in life. In Luxembourg he had no fewer than 
four resting-places, and was disturbed in his fourth 
by the French when they stormed the city in 1795. 
These vandals carried away the remains of the king, 
which fell into the hands of one named Boch, a 
person who was sacrilegious enough to deposit them 
in his crockery-ware museum at Metlach on the 
Sarre ! They were eventually rescued from those 
surroundings, and King Frederick IV of Prussia 
had a aiiausoleum built to receive them, a grim little 
chapel hanging on the side of a towering rock look- 
ing down upon the twisting Sarre. There the bones 
of the blind hero of Crecy repose in, let us hope, 
a final resting-place. It was when the Church of 
St. John was demolished that the monument was 
transferred to the Cathedral. 

Another interesting feature of the Cathedral is 
that it displays three distinct styles of architecture. 
The windows and arches are nearly all pointed ; the 
fagade and the rostrum are Renaissance work ; and 
a Moorish " motif " is strikingly evident in the shafts 
of the columns. No other Jesuit church in the world 
has the third characteristic, which is probably 
accounted for by the fact that the architect respon- 
sible for some of the work was a Spanish Jesuit. 
A masterpiece of sixteenth-century Flemish Renais- 
sance is the rood-screen with its particularly beau- 
tiful carving. The Moorish note is seen in the 
exquisite interlaced beading round the columns — work 
which is repeated round the arch of the choir. The 
frescoes in the choir are modern and represent scenes 
from the life of Jesus. All the three styles of archi- 


tecture blend most harmoniously, and the whole effect 
is pleasing in the extreme. The Cathedral also con- 
tains a statue of the Virgin Mary, to which 
miraculous powers are attributed. Pilgrims and 
sufferers invoke it under the name of Consolatrix 
afffictorum, and many hundreds of them, and 
spectators as well, come to be present at its 
feast, which lasts from the fourth to the fifth Sunday 
after Easter. The Cathedral has many valuable 
treasures, among them being a perfectly preserved 
insignia of the Golden Fleece, a gorgeous chasuble, 
the gift of Count Ernest of Mansfeld, a robe for 
the statue of the Virgin Mary, woven and worked 
by Marie Th^r^se herself. At the rear of the 
Cathedral is the Grand Seminary, a building which 
was originally part of the Jesuits' convent ; it has 
no interest, and it is even doubtful if it were ever 
actually used by the Jesuits as a seminary. 

But the Cathedral does not exhaust the interest 
in the former convent buildings. Here, too, is to 
be found the Athdnee, in a structure which has been 
put to many uses in its time. Not very long ago 
it was wholly occupied by the pupils, nearly one 
thousand in number, of the gymnasium and the in- 
dustrial and commercial school, both of which 
institutions have become well known beyond Luxem- 
bourg's borders. The latter division, however, was 
lately removed to a modernly equipped building in 
the north-western suburb, Limpersburg. Now only 
the gymnasium pupils remain, and about half of 
them are housed in a hostel forming part of the 
cluster of buildings. Beautiful grounds are attached 


to the buildings, and any visitor interested in 
education will find no difficulty in his way if he 
wishes to see this excellent school at work. Th:e 
National Library is also here. It consists of 80,000 
volumes, many of them very old, and a large 
number of valuable manuscripts. Among the latter 
are the " Liber Epistolarum Guidoni de Bassochius " 
and the " Natural History of Pliny the Younger," 
dating from the eleventh century. A particularly 
interesting rarity is a book of prayers, decorated 
with fifteenth -century miniatures. The collection of 
natural history specimens to be seen here is also 
worth a visit, but more attractive still is the museum 
of antiquities, mainly of the Gallo-Roman epoch in 
Luxembourg. A complete series of the coins of the 
Duchy is exhibited. Behind all those edifices the 
boulevard which leads to the Petrusse viaduct spreads 
out into a spacious, tree-shaded " place " — La Place 
de la Constitution — an elevated embankment which 
provides a lovely coup d'ceil up and down the 
Petrusse between the two bridges, a section of the 
river ravine which has won for itself by its charm 
the name of " Italy " from the people. Even in 
the winter the cold winds seem to wander wide 
from this secluded little vale which the mighty artist 
Nature ever decks with her most delicate and ever- 
changing robes of colour, a wonderful contrast to 
the town above it, " all spired and domed and 
turreted." On the promenade overlooking this part 
of the river valley all Luxembourg delights to stroll 
and chat while enjoying the music provided by the 
military band during summer evenings. Another 


such place is the Place d'Armes, not far from the 
Place Guillaume. There is music there on three 
evenings of the week, and on two sides of the square 
are cafes and restaurants in profusion. The little 
city is certainly not overcrowded with institutions 
to provide amusement. Not a single music-hall 
exists, and the municipal theatre — once a church ! — 
is open but for a short winter season, when Court 
and Society are at home. Last year I discovered 
a couple of good, if modest, cinematograph theatres 
in dim, narrow streets in the neighbourhood of the 
palace. A much-favoured institution in Luxem- 
bourg is the Casino, situated at the end of the rue 
Aldringer, and with a spacious terrace looking out 
on the valley of the Petrusse. In this " club " is 
undoubtedly the best restaurant in the city and a 
large and well-equipped reading-room. Concerts and 
lectures are frequently given, and the visitor may 
have the use of the Casino after the slight formality 
of being introduced by a member. Any one wishing 
to have more than the ordinary tourist's knowledge 
of Luxembourg and its people should certainly take 
advantage of the introduction into society offered 
through the Casino. 

To return for a little to the Place d'Armes, the 
visitor should see there the delightfully artistic 
monument which was in 1903 erected to the memory 
of two of Luxembourg's national poets, Lentz and 
Dicks. At the foot of a graceful column, a girl 
crowns the heads, in bas-relief, with garlands, while 
a young worker singis Lentz's national hymn — 
" Feierw6n." It is, by the way, the music of the 


refrain of that hymn which the bells of the Cathedral 
ring out every alternate hour. Round the column 
is the first line of the words of the refrain, carved 
in the stone. They are in the Luxembourg patois, 
and mean : " We wish to remain just as we are." 
Luxembourg desires to be left alone in peace to 
work out her destiny, and the way in which those 
two poets inculcated this quiet patriotism and glori- 
fied the Luxembourg spirit has ensured them a place 
in the Duchy's heart for ever. On the top of the 
column a lion holds the Luxembourg arms. The 
monument is the work of a skilled young artist, 

Of late years Luxembourg has been lavish in the 
erection of public buildings. Opposite the poets' 
monument is the Palais Municipal, the fagade of 
which is also Federspiel's work, and a bas-relief 
shows Luxembourg's citizens receiving their charter 
of liberty from the Countess Ermesinde. The Post 
Office, newly completed, in the rue du G6nie, is 
another fine building ; and not far away is the 
Synagogue, a beautiful building in Moorish-Byzantine 
style. Banks are responsible for several striking 
improvements, and the commercial houses of the 
Grand' Rue are one by one being rebuilt, so that 
soon the rue de la Paix of Luxembourg should be 
a most handsome thoroughfare. 

There are many ways from the upper town to the 
lower, but before exploring that part of Luxembourg 
which is huddled closely down by the lazy Alzette, 
the Bock, the cradle of the city, should be visited. 


This curious rock — the barrel of the pistol with which 
the fortress met its foes— juts out into the northern 
curve of the river from the oldest part of the upper 
town. No other citadel in the world has seen so much 
of war, and few are so rich in clusters of romance 
which Time has bestowed. Siegfried and Jean 
I'Aveugle had their castles here ; ruler after ruler, 
race after race added to its strength, and remnants 
of the work of all remain. An ivy-hung tower, the 
only one out of seven that still stands, and deep wells 
in the rock carry us back to pre-Conquest times, 
when history and romance blend delightfully. Who 
was this Siegfried round whose name the years have 
spun a legend as of that of Lohengrin reversed? 
Let me first tell the story as Romance will have it, 
and then see what the investigators make of it. 
Siegfried married the most beautiful Melusina, who, 
having a horrible secret, would only consent to the 
marriage on a certain condition. That was that 
on one certain day of the year he should 
leave her free, and should not attempt to see 
her during the twenty-four hours. He agreed, 
being doubtless warned that if he attempted, and 
was successful in, an evasion of the stipulation 
all happiness would come to an end with startling 
suddenness. Whatever there was supernatural about 
the beautiful bride, Siegfried was distressingly 
human. When the short " close season " arrived 
he endeavoured to learn his beautiful wife's secret, 
and it was revealed to him' as he peered through 
a keyhole. Startled to see the fair one in mermaid 
shape, the astonished man uttered, as well he 


might, a loud cry of surprise, which told Melusina 
that her secret was " out." That spell, which gave 
her human shape for all but one day of the year, 
was broken, and the beautiful mermaid dived into 
the nearest domain of suitable element— the Alzette. 
Romance gives the story variety — a habit which 
Romance has. One variant is that Melusina vowed 
that she would sew a garment, taking seven years 
for every stitch, and that when the piece of work 
was finished Luxembourg's doom would fall upon 
it without warning. Roughly, she must have put 
in something like a hundred and fifty stitches by 
now, so that the city may safely count upon a fairly 
long span of life yet, judging by the intricate needle- 
work of the time. Another story is that the spell 
was to break and allow the lovely prisoner of the 
water to return to the world of humans when a 
certain number of rulers had been born of Siegfried's 
line. With Henry IV the number was completed 
and the spell broke again, with the result that the 
event mentioned earlier in this chapter took place. 
No wonder Melusina is regarded as the protectress 
of the city ! But still another story has it that 
Melusina has not yet left her Alzette, fay-guarded 
abode. She is said to appear once every hundred 
years, seeking for a bold cavalier to break the spell. 
Then she comes at night in the guise of a hideous, 
terror-striking serpent, and in her mouth she carries 
the key of the city. If any one meets her and is bold 
enough to take the key from her mouth Melusina is 
free, and no doubt the hero's reward will be the fair 
one's hand in marriage — let us hope without the 


temptation which beset poor Siegfried ! And just 
as there are people who have seen the sea-serpent, 
so there are those who have seen Melusina in this 
repulsive form, but none has been bold enough to 
secure the key. Sometimes when revels are held in 
the vaults of the Bock, merrymakers declare they 
have seen the apparition. But, as the somewhat 
matter-of-fact Luxembourger who shows visitors over 
the Bock caves says, that only gpes to prove that 
they are merrymakers ! 

The Alzette Melusina has, of course, more than one 
" double " in the wide realms of romance, and when 
the stern modern searcher after truth has done with 
the story it has undergone considerable modification, 
not, however, sufificient to leave it without interest., 
One of those explorers would have us believe that 
Siegfried is no less a personage than Hercules. 
Luxembourg was a spot consecrated for the venera- 
tion of this hero. Siegfried of the Rhine was one 
and the same divinity, to whom the greater river 
has no substantial claim. Therefore it follows that 
Luxembourg is the real classic ground of the 
Nibelungen ! If I felt inclined to do a little 
amateur exploration of this kind, I would set out to 
prove that the legend is much more likely to have 
come up from the Rhine than to have floated down 
to it. But, in this place at least, I must, with the 
tact of the appreciative guest, desist from such work 
and give Luxembourg the full benefit of every doubt. 
As for Melusina, the authority I have quoted insists 
that she is none other than " la grande Diane arden- 
naise." As a lover of Luxembourg, again I like to 


think that from the delectable little Duchy went 
forth all the legends which cluster round the name 
of that fair divinity. And there may be something in 
the idea, for if the wanderer, when at Echternach, 
crosses the river and enters the woods any one will 
guide him to a crumbling, broken altar, upon which 
he can read : 

Deae Dianae 
Q Postutnius 
Potens V S ' 

Only I wish some clever person would make the 
dates connected with Siegfried (of Luxembourg) and 
Hercules, with Melusina and Diana, tally a little more 
nearly. That would really be doing good work for 

Marie d'Autriche, sister of Charles V, did a great 
deal — more, perhaps, than any one else — to 
strengthen the fortifications, but it was not until 
1765 that the great vaults which can be seen to-day 
were made. These vaults, resembling catacombs, 
have a total length of 410 feet, and are in two 
parallel galleries, 1 1 feet wide and i o feet high . 
They are provided with loopholes. Hence it gets 
the name the people give it — " huolen Zant," or 
" hollow tooth." In its war days the great rock 
was not unlike a modern battleship, being able to 
concentrate its fire in front or on either side. There 
was room for twenty-five batteries — twelve on the 
Pfaffenthal side and thirteen facing the Grund. 

' "To the goddess Dijtna Quintus Postumius, having gained his 
wish, fulfils his promise.'' 


Shortly before those excavations were made — in 
1735— the Bock, which, of course, was strongly 
walled all round, was connected with the town by 
the massive Pont du Chiteau, still standing and 
very well preserved. It had an upper and lower 
pathway, and below it ran a subterranean passage 
for use should the bridge have been destroyed during 
an attack. 

Looking out from the southern side of the Bock, 
one has an excellent view of the Rham plateau with 
its ruined fortifications. Upon that height it is said 
that a Roman camp existed. The plateau is made 
very distinctive by four ruined towers, built by 
Wenceslas II in 1393. Germans, Austrians and 
Spaniards all added their quota to the military works 
on the height, which, with its matchless green of 
trees and turf, is extremely picturesque. Between 
the Rham plateau and the Bock lies the quaint old 
part of the town called Grund, packed between 
heights and river. A curious place it is, with a very 
interesting church. Surrounded by a maze of old 
dwellings, many very seriously dilapidated, rises the 
parish church of St. John. The Benedictines had it 
first, after its erection in 1309 by Henry VII, 
Emperor of Germany and Count of Luxembourg. 
In the chapel a curious piece of sculpture is to be 
seen. It is " La Ste Vierge noire " (or 
" d'Egypte "), carved in wood, and remarkable for 
the expression which the artist has succeeded in 
imparting to the face. The Gothic baptismal fonts, 
too, are noteworthy. In this church the bones of 
John the Blind rested for a long time. They were 


■J . - -■ ■ • t -i-^Ci^' J ."f'oO 

/■Ac^f /'JV] 



interred in the crypt behind the high altar, a plaque 
indicating the spot. Above the crypt rose the monu- 
ment which, as I have already mentioned, is to be 
seen in the Cathedral. 

Following the river upwards, along the rue Miinster 
and the Bisserweg, is the Bisser Gate— a most interest- 
ing walk with the Rham plateau on the left and the 
south-eastern extremity of the high town, upon which 
are situated the St. Esprit barracks, on the right — a 
three or four hundred yards' walk will bring the 
visitor to perhaps the most curious little chapel in 
all the world. It is situated on the right bank of 
the Petrusse, a little below the Viaduct and just 
opposite the spot where the gasworks introduce a 
black spot into the scene. This is the chapel of 
St. Quirinus (locally called Greinskapelle or Sanct 
Grein). Except for its frontage, the chapel is 
formed entirely by an excavation in the solid rock. 
It is the most ancient place of worship known to 
exist in the country, and is believed to have been 
hollowed out as early as the beginning of the fourth 
century. The fagade, according to an inscription, 
dates from 1355. Inside, the chapel is about eight 
or nine yards long, six broad and five high. The 
altar is finely carved. No doubt sacrifices were 
offered up here, for a gutter leads from a rough 
incision in the rock to a basin. Most likely sheep 
were slain, as the chapel is commonly held to haiyp 
been in its earliest days the place to which the 
primitive shepherds came to offer adoration to the 
deity who guarded their flocks. Outside is a pulpit 
carved out of the rock, and not far away is one of 


those miracle springs of water so numerous in 
Luxembourg. Even now the people believe that the 
water has curative powers in connection with eye 
diseases and scrofula. For centuries the Spring of 
St. Quirinus was a place of pilgrimage, and to-day 
when people come to the Feast of the Ste Vierge de 
Notre Dame, to which 1 have already referred, on 
the first of the two Sundays they go to the spring, 
bathe their eyes, and listen to instruction and ex- 
hortation from the outside pulpit. Not many yards 
away is another chapel, much smaller and more 
modern than that of St. Quirinus. On the exterior 
there is a representation of its patron, St. Wendelin, 
saint of the flocks, and, by some so regarded, god 
of the shepherds. This tiny place has a most extra- 
ordinary relic of ancient times. It is a group, carved 
in wQod, representing three female figures, one with 
the eyes bandaged, sitting upon a mule. They are 
commonly regarded as the Christianization of either 
the three Hecates or the Norns, the three fates of 
Scandinavian mythology. 

A charming walk, during which is obtained a 
delightful glimpse of Luxembourg, is to return to 
the Bisser Gate, go under the railway, and take the 
Trier road — that leading along the right bank of 
the Alzette. On reaching the powder-mill, take the 
twisting pathway to the left which leads up to 
the beautiful height, Dinselberg. On reaching the 
Remich road the visitor should walk along it towards 
the town until a path descending to Clausen is 
reached; Clausen is very prettily laid out. It has 
picturesque villas, and a fine church in Gothic style 


— that of St. Cunegonde. In this faubourg once 
stood one of the finest palaces in the world, belonging 
to Count Ernest of Mansfeld, Governor of Luxem- 
bourg for nearly sixty years— from 1545 till 1604. 
In I 563 he built himself the magnificent palace which 
is no more. Glorious gardens encircled it ; beauti- 
ful terraces ran beside the river. The residence 
itself was most artistically built ; its interior was 
sumptuously rich with the most valuable art treasures. 
To-day but the merest traces of all this glory remain. 
The splendours of the palace scarcely outlived their 
creator. Madrid and Brussels, Trier and Metz and 
other places share them ; the gorgeous building 
fell quickly to ruin, as though such magnificence 
were too great to last. 

In going from Clausen to Pfaffenthal, on the left, 
across the river towers the plateau of Altmiinster, 
which is the prolongation of the Bock, and is cut off 
from it by the railway. There once stood there the 
famous Monastery of Miinster, facing the entrance 
to the castle. Reared by Conrad I, about the time 
when our own Domesday Book was being compiled, 
it was that ruler's penance for an attack upon the 
Bishop of Trier. Later it was found to be in the 
way, from the strategic point of view, and it was 
razed to the ground about the middle of the six- 
teenth century. The monks found a home near at 
hand in Grund, but shortly afterwards returned to 
the plateau. In 1684 they were dispossessed again, 
and in Grund again found a home. The building 
they occupied there is now a prison. 

The Pfaffenthal is a curious place. Its narrow 


streets, its small riverside dwellings, its disarray of 
buildings are looked down upon by magnificent 
wooded heights, some of the natural charms of which 
seem to have fallen to deck here and there the Vale 
of the Monks. Goethe loved the picturesque spot. 
For a little while in 1792 he stayed at a house, still 
inhabited and having a plaque with these words : — 

Hier wohnte Goethe 
vom 14 bis 22 October 

It is near the Caserne de Vauban, a building which 
has been reconstructed to be a temporary home for 
the treasures of the Arch^ological and Natural 
History Museum. " This part of the town," said 
Goethe, " is a veritable Elysium." The Vauban men- 
tioned is, of course, the famous soldier S^bastien le 
Prestre de Vauban (163 3- 1707), marshal of France, 
and one of the most celebrated of military engineers. 
Part of the fortifications of Luxembourg are his 
work, and much that he introduced into the art of war 
still remains. He conducted fifty successful sieges, 
constructed or rebuilt a hundred and sixty fortresses, 
and took part in three hundred fights. " Perhaps 
the most honest and virtuous man of his age," Saint- 
Simon said of him. He foretold, eighty years in 
advance, the coming in force of those doctrines which 
caused the French Revolution. The Republicans 
scattered his remains, but his name lives, in Luxem- 
bourg and in history, and his heart rests in Les 
InvaHdes, placed there by that other great military 
genius. Napoleon Bonaparte. 


The museum, containing also a library and the 
archives, is exceedingly interesting. The library con- 
tains no fewer than twenty thousand volumes and 
five or six hundred manuscripts dealing mainly with 
the history of the country. In the archives are 
forty thousand documents in which can be read the 
story of the great families of the land. The oldest 
document bears the date 803. The museum itself 
is particularly notable for its very fine collection of 
Gallo-Roman antiquities. There is a large number 
of remarkably beautiful vases, some of which are 
unique. Six thousand Roman coins and several 
hundred Celtic, all found in the Grand Duchy, make 
a striking collection. Bronzes, statuettes, ornaments, 
ivories and many other kinds of treasure are to be 
seen in large numbers. All these objets d'art are, 
perhaps, not seen to advantage in such a building, 
and it is to be hoped that before long they will have 
a resting-place worthy of their value and beauty. 
The natural history section, too, is most interesting, 
and botany is represented by something like sixty 
thousand specimens. 

Clausen and the Pfafifenthal are looked down upon 
by three most picturesque wooded heights — the Park- 
hohe, the Obergriinewald and the Niedergriinewald. 
They are deUghtful heights to wander on, especially, 
the middle one, from which charming and ever- 
varying vistas of the town present themselves to thei 
eye. At the extremity of the Obergriinewald is the 
old Fort Thiingen (Trois Glands or Drei Eicheln). 
The fort carries a sad memory for Luxembourg 
people, for in its ditch the prisoners taken by the 


French in the Peasants' Revolt against them were 

Such, then, are the charms and attractions of 
Luxembourg, and it must be admitted that for such 

a little city they are strikingly numerous. It has 

a rich dower of everything that calls the wanderer, 

Elusive notes in wandering wafture borne 
From undiscoverable lips that blow 
An immaterial horn. 


Allons ! The road is before us ! 

It is safe — I have tried it — my own feet have tried it well . 

Camerado, I will give you my hand. 

Walt Whitman. 



To do southern Luxembourg something like the 
justice it deserves, one might paraphrase Isaac 
Walton's reference to a strawberry : Doubtless God 
could create a more beautiful country, but — of its 
kind — doubtless God never did. It is essentially a 
district for the wanderer afoot. It has not the 
Dantesque topography of the Echternach region or 
the Miillerthal, but, with northern Lorraine, it shares 
a simple and pleasing charm. Visitors will find it, 
indeed, somewhat difficult to decide to which Nature 
has been the kinder, so alike are those twin sisters 
upon whom she has showered her favours with no 
niggard hand. In both lands one finds the ebb and 
flow of a quiet human life ; they live together on 
the very best of terms. It is often difficult to say 
where exactly is the frontier line. Once, during 
a wander from Mondorf to Rodemack, I found that 
many people did not know where the border line 
was. Some said it was the tiny Altbach which runs 
round Mondorf. Others said it was not, but could 
add no definite information. It was really a matter 
of small importance to them, so long as they knew 
roughly where they were. Later, in seeking a spot 



from which to take a photograpih of the town, I came 
across a plaque with the word " Landesgrenze." It 
was loosely nailed to a pig-sty beside the sluggish 
little brook ! Nothing could be less like a frontier 
than the Altbach — no customs house, no guards, not 
an ordinarily visible sign that the bridge across it 
carries one from the Duchy into the mighty realm 
of the Emperor William, into the " black provinces " 
of the French school-map. 

And as yet across that very indistinct frontier 
Germanization has not penetrated very deeply. If one 
wayfarer salutes you with " Guten Tag ! " the next 
will most likely say " Bonjour ! " In the little way- 
side inns one man's " Prosit ! " will be answered by 
another's " A Vous ! " And still it cannot be said 
that the people of this corner of Lorraine have 
become even moderately French. At heart they are 
neither French nor German, but Luxembourgers, 
clinging among themselves very tenaciously to the 
dialect of the Duchy. The Treaty of Versailles 
(1769) fixed upon the Altbach as Luxembourg's 
frontier for a mile or two above and below Mondorf. 
Marie Therese, therefore, had to surrender a strip 
of Luxembourg's territory on the right bank of the 
brook, territory which includes the ancient Duchy 
" seigneuries " of Rodemack, Puttelange, Roussy and 
Preisch. The year 1871 rather aggravated than 
lessened the wrong of this piece of bad map-making. 

From the west, from the sparkle and rich beauty 
of the Chiers Valley — the Chiers, by the way, is the 
only river of the Duchy which wanders westwards — 
to the east, to the proud, vine-fringed Mosel, southern 


Luxembourg has a great deal wherewith to reward 
the stranger. Beautiful woods are scattered over 
all, in fawn and green and gold ; good roads lead 
everywhere, and the olive of every valley is threaded 
with the argent of a rippling stream. So highly 
favoured by climate, so plentifully provided with fresh 
water and mineral streams, the good lands of the 
south, extraordinarily fertile, make an El Dorado 
for the Nature-lover in general and the botanist 
in particular ; they are the home of an almost be- 
wildering array of flowers and ferns. At two seasons 
of the year is the country glorious — in spring, when 
Nature promises, and if 

April's anger is swift to fall, 
April's wonder is worth it all, 

and in autumn, season of fulfilment and victory, 
when the woods show every hue from red to russet, 
when flowers still bloom, when, with colours still 
bravely flying and with a rejoicing heart, the world 
marches to meet winter. The flowers of the south 
are early bloomers ; proud orchid and humble blue- 
bell respond quickly to the call of the warm winds. 
Hedgerow, field and riverside vie with one another 
to be first in spring array. Quickly the March 
winds give the carpets of the woodlands their spring- 
cleaning, and soon " delicate windflowers dancing 
light " are here, there and everywhere. 

Squirrel is climbing swift and lithe, 
Chiff-chafF whetting his airy scythe. 
Woodpecker whirrs his rattling rap, 
Ringdove flies with a sudden clap. 


Rook is summoning rook to build, 
Dunnock his beak with moss has filled, 
Robin is bowing in coat-tails brown, 
Tomtit chattering upside down. 

Down along the river-bed, beside " the first of 
trees," ' matching harmoniously the water's chain of 
sunbeams, the beautiful rose-flowered water-plant 
{Butomus umbellatus) very frequently finds a home. 
In a surmy day's wander by hill and wood the visitor 
will see on either hand cornflower and moonwort, 
speedwell, medlar and anemone, foxglove, hart's 
tongue and adder's tongue, hellebore and a hundred 
other beauties of the countryside. With luck and 
a sharp eye, he may even find, on the spreading 
mossy masses on rocks and tree-stems in moist 
places, that beautiful filmy fern, Hymenophyllum tun- 
bridgense, which, though with a local and a northern 
name, is the most widely distributed of its family and 
more common in the southern than in the northern 
hemisphere. And how rich is this little country in 
orchids I Of the twenty-four distinct kinds ajid the 
hundred and eleven varieties known to exist in 
Europe, no fewer than eighteen kinds and forty-two 
varieties are to be found in Luxembourgf, mostly in 
the south. North and south, in short, seem to have 
in southern Luxembourg a happy meeting-place. 
From the north Flora sends her frailer children 
and from the south her hardier to find a home in 
and to beautify this part of a beautiful Duchy. 

Southern Luxembourg can be " done " by rail ; 
it can only be thoroughly appreciated if explored 
' A Finnish description of willows. 


afoot. The wanderer's best gfuides are the Httle 
gods of the open air. They will lead him into the 
soft twilight of fancy from the hard, full day of 
reality ; by the rivers nymphs will be his truest 
companions if he would hear the water's song 
" coming in solemn beauty like slow old tunes of 
Spain " ; and for the woodlands let the dryad lead 
the way by mossy paths with " a slow, sweet piece 
of music from the grey forgotten years." Or — as 
the reader may prefer advice in strictly modern terms 
— I say, in short, wander just where you will, 
distances are nowhere great, and if you are com- 
pelled to miss something which may be away by a 
road on the left, you are certain to find something 
to compensate for it not far along the alternative 
path. Give your wander-fancy the freest rein, the 
following being either regarded as hints or as pictures 
which may recall something from " the past, its ripe 
pleasance," when the journey is over. 

I wander, then, first to the extreme south-western 
corner of the Duchy, leaving the capital by the 
Avenue Monterey. It is a delightful road ; there 
are little villages to salute on the way, small history- 
less places where every passer-by is an event. The 
charm of such villages as Dippach and BasCharage 
lies in their cafds. Curious little resorts they are, 
the very names of which help to carry one still 
farther on one's journey from the workaiday world 
and raise the illusion of really being] in, another age. 
And when one thinks of medical and sanitary science 
one wonders how the people contrive to live and to 
be so healthy as they undoubtedly are. Some way 



or other they manage to make a mockery of the 
precautions which enlightened city corporations insist 
on, and yet the muscle and blood are here created 
which go to reinforce the weakening fibwie of city 
life. The children playing about are sturdy little 
mites ; the men have a splendid physique ; the 
women show a certain degree of handsomeness even 
when age advances and are picturesque in their short 
cotton skirts, bulgy blouses, strong loose boots and 
straw sun-hats. In the tiny cafes they become 
talkative, adding to one's knowledge in a speech 
which might be musical with care, but in which 
they appear to emphasize the harsh notes. To a 
visitor the wayside ca.i6 takes the place of guide- 
book and newspaper. He may have the latest news 
there in the rare event of anything having hap- 
pened ; he may have folklore or the history of any 
person or place within a wide range ; he will mostly 
find a guide should he require one. When in doubt 
place your troubles before the old dame who pre- 
sides over the nearest cafe. And the names of those 
little cafds, and the streets and " places " of the 
villages, show the simple faith of those simple people. 
To them there is a great deal in a niaine. Tha,t a 
small inn should be called " Au Bon Dieu " was 
a real relief to the traveller and the village people 
of old. The villages give outward evidence of their, 
faith by calling one ruelle " la rue des Trois Sa,ints," 
and a shapeless little " place " " la Place de la 
Sainte Vierge." Names everywhere are in keeping 
with the old-world atmosphere created by the odd- 
looking houses, now of stone, now of wood, now of 


both. And an evening in any one of those wayside 
villages, made up as a ruje of a cluster of houses at 
cross-roads, will teach the wanderer more about a 
people than any " personally conducted tour " ever 

A little beyond Bascharage the sinuous Chiers is 
reached, and across it lies the Black Country of 
Luxembourg, thoughtfully stowed away by Nature 
in a corner of the land. To get a good view of 
this district the best plan is to climb from Rodange ■ 
up to the bastion-like summit of Titelberg. This 
rugged plateau was the site of a Roman camp, and 
bits of the guard-house are discovered even to -day. 
The name is said to be derived from Titusberg, and 
that from Titus Labienus, the Roman warrior about 
whose doings in the neighbourhood the meagre 
history which exists is wildly contradictory. The 
time to reach the summit is just before the sunrise, 
when the gorgeous rose of dawn, heralding a 
summer's day, flushes all the east. Then the beauties 
of the wide landscape are opened up to the sight 
like those of a Jericho rose. In a wide, irregular 
semicircle the Chiers runs round from east to west ; 
the green uplands of neighbouring France and 
Belgium catch the glories of renascent day, till all 
around glows in the full glory of the light. Then 
the rings and rows of furnaces, the black patches of 
iron ore and refuse, are clearly seen. Yet one does 
not resent those " warts " ; they are riches in black. 

' The suffix -ange, in France -igne, -ignes, -igny, -igney, in 
Germany -ingen, in England -ing, found with a family name, 
signifies a family settlement. 


Round Rodange, Differdange and Esch-sur-AIzette 
six thousand workmen bring to the surface nearly 
seven milhon tons of iron ore per annum. Luxem- 
bourg's Black Country is not large but it is exceed- 
ingly rich, and one cannot grudge to industry one 
part of a country where Nature has so much of its 
own Way. At evening, too, the view from Titelberg 
is enchanting, when the silvery grey of twilight makes 
a garment which even the furnace smoke does not 
barbarously stain with its carbon strokes. At night- 
fall the scene has a new charm. That is the Cinder- 
ella-hour, when the light goes and leaves her golden 
slipper, the Star of Eve, in the stairway of the sky. 
To come down from Titelberg, skirt the Grand Bois 
which lies along the little piece of frontier which 
France throws up against the Duchy ; to cross the 
fields and take the woodland way to where Differd- 
ange lies in its circle of mines, is one of thte moist 
interesting and pleasant walks in the southern 

Dififerdange, a fine large industrial village, can 
be made the headquarters for some interesting excur- 
sions. Eastwards and on the way to Belvaux lie 
two peaks — Soleuvre, the higher (its other name is 
Zolwerknapp), and Lestchef. On the former was 
a Roman camp — the reader will note that south 
Luxembourg has a chain of such forts — which eventu- 
ally ig'ave place to the inevitable castle from which 
the lords of Soleuvre exercised wide sway from the 
eleventh until nearly the end of the sixteenth century, 
when the fortress Was, during the reign of Henry III, 
taken by the French, destroyed, and never rebuilt. 


Some remains of both camp and castle are still to 
be seen on the heigfht, which is, by the way, one of 
the highest in Luxembourg. After the destruction 
of the castle, the ejected seigneurs came to Differd- 
ange to live, and the castle, still standing in ruins 
there, was their abode. Part of a monastery, built 
by the Cistercian order in the fourteenth century, 
is pointed out — an ordinary dwelling-house. 

Belvaux has a delightful situation. On the left 
is the C6te de Belvaux, where the Chiers has its 
rise, and not far away in the opposite direction is 
the Bel-Val source, whence comes that excellent 
mineral water so often seen on Grand Duchy tables. 
The water springs from a fault in Jurassic rock and 
maintains an even temperature of loo C. Since 1893 
the spring has been yielding not less than 12,500 
litres per hour. And now Esch-sur-Alzette— there is 
another Esch, on the Sure — is not far away. With 
its seventeen or eighteen thousand inhabitants, it is 
the second largest town in the Duchy. It has had 
a curious history. Being a border town, it was con- 
stantly plundered and set on fire during the warlike 
times of old, and gradually sank to the status of a 
very small village. Peace made it grow a little 
again, but only, a quarter of a century ago i't had little 
more than a thousand inhabitants. Industry has 
made it prosperous, and it is certainly the newest 
town in the country. There are two large ironworks 
and numerous small concerns. Amongst the people 
one hears the Luxembourg' patois, French, German 
and Italian all mixed up in, to the visitor, most 
hopeless fashion. No remnants of the old fortifica- 


tions remain, though they were formidable in their 
day, and on the site of the old castle of Berward an 
industrial magnate has reared ironworks which, in 
the people's description, is still " le chateau." The 
most pleasant way to reach Bettembourg is by way 
of Kayl, on the Kiylbach, a pretty stream running' 
through woodlands from Lorraine, and joining the 
Alzette at Noertzange, a mile or two to the north. 
Beside Kayl stands Mont Saint Jean, roughly 
1,500 feet high. On the summit was, of course, a 
castle in the castle days, which the French destroyed 
at the same time as they sacked that on Soleuvre. 
Where the castle stood there is now a humble chapel. 
This is dedicated to John the Baptist, and! is, on 
the Sunday following the 24th of June, the place of 
an annual pilgrimage and' a yearly fair, similar to that 
of Helperknapp.J A magnificent view is obtained 
from the chapel. The peaks of the Hig*h Ardennes 
round Arlon and Longwy can easily be distinguished ; 
the winding Kaylbach and Alzette can be traced 
along their lovely valleys, with the olive mass of 
the Forest of Bettembourg as a background. On 
particularly sunny days, so it is said, the high towers 
of Luxembourg send heliograph flashes from afar. 
iWhen the weather is clear, Mont Saint Jean 
seen when one stands beside the St. Esprit Barracks 
at Luxembourg. The distance is thirteen kilometres 
as the crow flies, and sometimes the range of vision 
includes Mont de Soleuvre, two or three kilometres 
farther off. Wander down into the little village of 
Dudelange ; seek the inn and ask for food and 
' See pp. 306-7. 


drink ; chat with any old Dudelange-ite whom you 
chance to meet, and you will hear a story of French 
Revolution times. Empires may fall and emperors 
die, the modern world may be convulsed, but there 
is one constantly repeated story which Dudelange 
likes to dwell on better than anything up-to-date, 
however stirring. If it should happen to be May 17th 
you may hear Mass for the souls of some long dead. 
And this is the story. Dudelange in 1794 was a 
little village of seventy or eighty inhabitants, and 
the tiny place was much disturbed by the ravages 
of the vicious soldiers of the Republic of Reason. 
The people of the village joined with those of Esch 
and Kayl to defend their territory, and on several 
occasions repulsed the French troops. The heroic 
defenders of the village, however, had to give way 
in the end before force of number's, and in revenge 
the French troops sacked and burned Dudelange, 
massacring nearly all the inhabitants of the village, 
sparing neither age nor youth, compelling some to 
dig their graves before execution. The massacre 
accounted for some sixty or seventy persons, and it is 
for the repose of their souls that Mass is sung to-day. 
Seldom has wrong penetrated so deeply into the 
soul of a little community. For that Dudelange 
has always associated the French with all that is 
most evil. The memory of that butchery and its 
losses is one which nothing that France could ever 
do could possibly wipe out. To-day the ill-will 
finds fiery expression as though the deed were of 
yesterday's doing. 

From Dudelange a pleasant walk brings the 


wanderer to the quiet little village of Bettembourg, 
where he has left well behind the Black Country of 
Luxembourg. In that tranquil spot there is a large 
and finely organized retreat for the aged, and a visit 
to it will show how admirably the Duchy deals with 
her broken soldiers from all ranks of life. 

And on the tramp northwards along the glorious 
valley of the Alzette one leaves behind the gently 
sloping country which spreads from Lorraine into 
Luxembourg, and when the wide valley ends at 
Fentange a different landscape comes before the 
wanderer, who, with Rosalind, will exclaim : " Well, 
here is the forest of Arden 1 " Fentange church, by 
the way, is worth visiting to see the fine picture pi 
"Luther at the Diet of Augsburg." 

Mondorf is a miniature Matlock : it may one day 
be a wealthy Wiesbaden. An irregular little town, 
by merit of its curative waters " raised to that Bad 
eminence " which it enjoys, it is very humble. Its 
claims to recognition are not heralded by means of 
four-colour posters in the great railway stations ; 
I doubt if Harley Street knows it well enough tO' 
prescribe it to those who have lived Society's season 
too well. Mondorf may have herself to blame. She 
has not worried to lay out her streets ; they have 
just happened ; they are the more or less well-paved 
spaces which inevitably occur between rows of houses. 
True, she has a park, prettily designed with lake 
and kiosk and an up-to-date 6tablissement des bains. 
But Mondorf has not yet decided to be fashionable. 
Her chief street is the " Miihlenweg " instead of 


the " Grand Boulevard " ; the best name she has 
achieved for an hotel, after exhausting all the banali- 
ties like Hotel des Bains and Hotel de la Gare, is 
H6tel du Grand-Chef, which does not suggest that 
Spartan humbleness of diet which invalids would 
like friends at home to associate with a stay at a 
" ville balneaire." The jaded Parisian and Parisi- 
enne, the worn Londoner, must really be properly 
considered, and Mondorf should remember that the 
Biblical leper was not the last person to object to 
having to bathe in an out-of-the-way place when 
there are others of more resounding names and with 
more fashionable inducements. 

The prospect of the company of a hotelful of 
persons all more or less invalids should not deter the 
wanderer in Luxembourg from visiting the little 
Kurort. The walk from Luxembourg is only twelve 
miles through interesting and delightful country. 
South-east from the city the road, tree-shaded, leads, 
carrying one, some time before Hesperange is 
reached, to a great, bare plateau high above a deep, 
wooded gorge of the Alzette, which suddenly, with its 
surroundings, bursts radiantly and surprisingly upon 
the view. A sloping mile brings one to the little 
town of Hesperange, lying snugly on both banks of 
the Alzette and framed by gently rising hills. From 
its midst rise the ruins, still at places over a hundred 
feet high, of the ancient castle, once the hereditary 
domain of the lords of Rodemack. The crumbling 
walls are singularly picturesque and noble, but some 
stormy night I should imagine the highest remaining 
will come crashing down upon the houses, built of the 


castle stones, which nestle so closely by the remnant 
of the old bourg. The lords of Rodemack were long 
famous for their heart-whole support of the kings of 
France against the House of Burgundy. They 
eventually roused the anger of the Emperor Maxi- 
milian, who vowed war without mercy. He laid 
siege to Hesperange Castle (in 1483), took it, razed 
it to the ground, and confiscated the domains of his 
enemies. In ruins, the fine castle, bearing traces 
which carry back its story to the ninth century, has 
remained tp this day, yet another desolate, dusty 
relic of an order of things long passed away. 

The traveller should turn aside to visit the little 
coquettish village of Itzig, or he may reach 
Hesperange by way of it. It dates from Roman 
times, and here, too, once stood an altar to Neptune. 
The most interesting thing to be seen, however, is 
the originar agreement, preserved in the church, for 
the capitulation of the fortress of Luxembourg on 
June 10, 179s, to the forces of the French Republic 
after its seven months' siege. 

At Hesperange the Alzette leaves the long, wide, 
and beautiful Roeser Valley. Here the banks of 
the river are low, and every winter the water. Nile- 
like, floods and fertilizes the surrounding lands. 
Nowhere else in the Duchy is agricultural land so 
valuable ; it costs two or three hundred pounds an 
acre. One may either keep on the main road to 
Mondorf or take that which leads up the valley, a 
glorious walk, going as far as Roeser and then cutting 
across country almost due east to Mondorf. This 
district is made extremely interesting by a large 


number of coquettish little villages — Weiler-la-Tour 
(the Roman Turris Villaris), keeping only its name 
out of the past ; Aspelt, dating from 963, and pre- 
serving the remains of the feudal manor, the castle of 
a family strong at the time of Henry IV and John 
the Blind ; Altwies, a little garden village where 
every open space grows its roses ; Dalheim, with its 
fine Roman camp. And so to Mondorf by any one 
of a variety of ways — all lined with apple-trees. 
These long miles of apple avenues are a constant 
delight to the wanderer, and it is curious to notice 
the artistry of their arrangement. Sometimes white 
and rosy-cheeked apple-trees alternate for miles ; 
sometimes it is red, russet and white for kilometre 
after kilometre. Yet the people would not agree 
with the poet who, singing of the goddesses, says : — 

Pomona, provider of tanged autumn cider, 
Our lady of apples, she's easily first ! 

No, in a country of apple-trees and vines, these 
hardy people are mostly beer-drinkers. 

That mineral water which has given Mondorf some 
degree of fame, a slight taste of celebrity, was acci- 
dentally discovered a little more than half a century 
ago when engineers were boring in the hope of find- 
ing a salt spring. The boring was continued to a 
depth of nearly 2,500 feet, and was at that time the 
deepest artesian well in Europe. The waters were 
first privately exploited, but in 1886 were taken over 
by the State. The supply amounts to 36,360 litres 
(slightly over 8,000 gallons) an hour. The water 
is similar to that of Homburg, Kissingen and 


Wiesbaden. I cannot enter into medical and 
scientific details, but I have been given to under- 
stand on high authority that the water is vastly 
superior to that of those places mentioned. For the 
benefit of those whom it may concern, no doubt, an 
authoritative statement in which that declaration is 
made hastens to declare that " Mondorf has not, 
like many other ' stations baln6aires,' the enervating 
excitements of a ' grande ville.' The Luxembourg 
resort only desires to attract those who are ill and 
wish to become well, not those who are well with 
the intention of making them ill." And the list 
of aiknents that eau de Mondorf can cure is for- 
midable ; it will make you grow and make you eat ; 
it stretches the octave in cures. On the out- 
skirts of the town is the large establishment of 
the Sisters of St. Elizabeth, who receive invalids 
requiring special care. 

Mondorf is certainly, even at the height of the 
season, a quiet, restful little place. If the Water 
is excellent, the air is no less so. The park in which 
the dtablissement thermal stands is quite close to the 
town, and part of the grounds are really in Lorraine 
territory. The principal building is a beautiful rustic 
erection. On the rez-de-chauss6e are the bathing 
cabinets as well as those for the different treat- 
ments provided. Above is a handsome reading- 
room (often used in the evening for dancing), a 
ladies' room, a billiard saloon, a cafd and a roomy 
terrace. Two other buildings contain large 
swimming-baths. All the latest medical appliances 
are in use, and the whole establishment is of the 


most up-to-date character. The park, too, is charm- 
ingly laid out, and has an area of about forty acres. 
The flower-beds are glorious throughout the long 
summer, and the entire park with its lovely alleys 
is shaded with fine trees. On the Altbach, which 
skirts it, canoes and rowing-boats are numerous ; 
cascades murmur here and there ; there is good 
fishing. During the season, from the beginning of 
May till the beginning of October, three concerts 
are given daily in the park, and at the casino two 
dances weekly. A great covered promenade makes 
exercise possible during rainy days, which are, 
however, few and far between. 

But even if the fact that Mondorf is a Vichy of 
the north be no attraction to the wanderer, there 
is this much to be said in favour of a stay in this 
most restful little village. It is a fine centre for 
walking or cycling tours in the interesting district 
in which it stands. Seeing that the frontier is so 
easily crossed, the visitor to Luxembourg's sunny 
south should certainly pay a visit to Rodemack. That 
means but an afternoon's tramp through historical 
and beautiful country. Of all old places in this 
district none has so well preserved its ancient state 
as has the old fortress and seigneurie cajpital, 
Rodemack. It is reached in about an hour by taking 
the Thionville road for a Httle while and then turning 
off to the right. The first village to be reached is 
Puttelange, which as far back as 907 had achieved 
the dignity of " city." Archbishops of Treves were 
delighted to honour the place, and from about the 
middle of the thirteenth century until the French 


Revolution it and its parish, which included seven 
neighbouring villages, were under the beneficent 
sway of the famous Abbey of Echternach. The 
Benedictines from there, too, built its fine church, 
which is notable for a remarkable painting on the 
walls of the choir. The work of a lay friar of the 
abbey, it reproduces something of the artistic effect 
of the frescoes in the Church of St. Paulin at Treves 
and represents the baptism of Clovis, together with 
a number of legendary incidents connected with the 
lives of the three myrtr-saints Firmin, Quirinus and 
Fer^ole. That saintly trio enjoyed great venera- 
tion in this district, and at Puttelange especially 
they were invoked to cure disease. At the foot of 
the ruelle leading up to the church is a beautiful 
cross in stone in their honour. It is stated to have 
been erected in about the middle of the eighteenth 
century, but there are doubts upon that point, some 
authorities holding that it was only restored then, as 
the base of the monument — a representation of 
Christ's tomb — is certainly sixteenth-century work. 
A little farther on, and a few yards to the right along 
the road leading to Himlingen, stands an ancient 
" croix de franchise." Here in old times justice 
was administered, civil actions decided and local 
ceremonies performed. The cross has been standing 
since 1643, and is one of the very few of its kind 
not thrown down at the time of the Revolution. 
About that time, too, was built the Castle of 
Puttelange, which is to be seen a little farther along 
the road. That manor replaced the old feudal 
building pillaged and burned by the Swedes in 1636. 


To face p. 95 


The road, girt by apple-trees all the way, passes 
through a pretty wood, on leaving which a tiny 
roadside chapel is seen on the left. Then the way 
leads down for a few hundred yards to where 
Rodemack, fronted by great chestnut-trees, stands. 
Rodemack is undoubtedly one of the most curious 
villages in the whole of the Grand Duchy. It still 
stands huddled within the walls from behind which 
it saw so much border fighting. One enters it 
to-day by the same gate, marvellously preserved — 
though the Administration des Postes might have 
avoided fixing telegraph wires to one of its towers ! — 
by which Henry II, King of France, entered the 
town in 1552. The streets are narrow and twist- 
ing, the houses old, and not one of them possesses a 
garden, the only garden in the place being attached 
to the manor house in the middle of the little town., 
I visited the place on a Sunday afternoon, a time 
when the inhabitants appear to indulge in siestas, 
for it was outwardly deserted from end to end, giving 
one, perhaps, a better impression of its age than it 
would otherwise have done. It seemed to have come 
bodily out of the Middle Ages ; if knights of old in 
shining armour had come riding through the gate- 
way their appearance would have been the most 
natural thing in the world, so mediaeval was the scene. 
But the illusion was spoiled ; a motor-car snorted, 
came cautiously through the narrow portal, and the 
chauffeur disturbed the afternoon repose of mine 
host of the " Golden Lion " by loud demands for — 
petrol. So I went into the church, which dates from 
1783. Here is to be seen the mausoleum of one of 


the proudest of Rodenjack's seigneurs — " Herman- 
Fortunat, Margrave of Baden and of Hochberg, Lord 
of Rodemack," who was buried there in 1665, the 
sepulchre being opened two years later to receive 
the body of his wife — " Marie-Sidonie, n^e de Daun, 
Countess of Falkenstein, Lady of Limbourg, of 
Rodemack, etc." Several other members of the 
family are interred in the church. 

The lords of Rodemack were perhaps the most 
powerful feudal people of their day. At times they 
governed all Luxembourg ; at times their sway was 
acknowledged not a foot beyond their fortress walls. 
Their power ebbed and flowed in fickle fashion. Of 
those who ruled the Duchy the most famous was 
Gilles IV, who, at the time of John the Blind, boasted 
that he had the largest castle in the Duchy. And 
the boast was true. He handed down to his successor 
not only this great castle but a string of forts, in- 
cluding Hesperange, Useldange, Richemont, Boulay, 
Forbach, Neuerbourg and Cronenbourg — one of the 
wealthiest domains of the age. But wealth bred 
ambition, and constant " little wars " sapped the 
strength of the lords and their broad lands. At last 
things became so desperate that Gerard de Rode- 
mack, last of his line, in 1483, in company with his 
nephew, the Count of Wimebourg, resolved on a 
desperate gamble. They picked a quarrel with the 
Emperor, and set out with their retainers to devastate 
the country up to the walls of Luxembourg. The 
Imperial forces, however, swept them backwards, laid 
siege to their stronghold, and took it. The Rode- 
mack domains were confiscated, and the Emperor 


gave them to the then Governor of Luxembourg, 
Christopher, Margrave of Baden, not so much because 
this particular nobleman was a favourite but because 
the Emperor vi^as very deeply in his debt for ready 
cash. Until the time of the Revolution the castles 
and lands remained in that family's hands, and were 
finally ceded to France, when the Margrave Charles 
Frederick left his feudal seat and a small French 
garrison marched in. Rodemack gave Napoleon one 
of his field-marshals — Field-Marshal Simmer (a 
common name still in the town), whom Bonaparte 
made a baron on the field of Wagram. Simmer was 
the son of a small tradesman ; his name will be 
seen on the Arc de Triomphe as one of the heroes of 
La Grande Arm6e. 

The castle itself is extremely interesting. A stiff 
climb leads up to it, and one can see that, under 
ancient conditions of strategy, it was a formidable 
place. The ancient walls, though renovated at 
various times, are preserved in such a manner as to 
give an excellent idea of the fortress which, with the 
exception of the capital of the Duchy, saw more 
war than any other. About forty years ago the castle 
was acquired by the Baron de Gargan, a wealthy 
Lorraine landed proprietor, who has done a great 
deal to preserve it. In a modern building, which 
serves as the officers' quarters, the Baron has brought 
together a very fine collection of objets d'art and 
antiquities. There are many pictures of the Flemish 
school, specimens of eighteenth-century stained glass, 
arms, furniture, porcelain, tapyestry and books — 
making a most admirable and interesting museum. 



The fortress, too, has great vaults and deep wellb, 
and from its walls one looks over a wide expanse 
of Lorraine. Flowers and vines have been planted 
where once grim walls stood and cannon were ranged. 
Rodemack has been declared a national monument, 
and must, therefore, be preserved by the community 
as it is. 

The little town's war record is striking. Some 
of the famous figures of history who have led 
forces against it are Robert de la Mark (15 14), 
a Duke of Orleans (1543), a Duke of 
Guise (1558), Marshal de Crequy (1667) and 
a Prince of Brunswick (1792). The Government 
of France sold the domain in 181 1, but re -bought 
it in 18 1 5. General Hugo (father of the poet and 
then Governor of Thionville) sent the Count de 
Varda with about four hundred men and a couple 
of cannon to occupy it, and ten days after the battle 
of Waterloo this tiny force was attacked by ten 
thousand Prussians with ten cannon. The attack 
lasted for three days, and owing to the energetic 
way in which the defence was carried on the 
Prussians, thinking that the town was held by a 
very considerable force, withdrew, having lost about 
three hundred men. 

In this corner of the Duchjy there are many Roman 
remains, and at Dalheim was one of the long line 
of camps by means of which the Caesars held the 
country of the Trfevirians. In addition, the wedge 
of high land, sloping" gently from the middle towards 
the two rivers and running into the angle made by 
Mosel and Altbach, is among the most beautiful 


parts of the whole Duch,y- Indeed, there is scarcely 
a more charming view than that which the wanderer 
obtains when he climbs up the road between Mondorf 
and Remich to see from the height of land the wide, 
silvery Mosel gleaming beyond a countryside thickly 
covered with woods and vineyards, a gorgeous spread 
of green. 

Before descending to the Mosel Valley, however, 
the visitor should see the Roman camp at Dalheim, 
the Pompeii of the Grand Duchy, which is only three 
miles due north of Mondorf. The camp is to be 
found on a high plateau beside the pretty little 
village, and from it one may trace one's way back 
to Titelberg and the Mont de Soleuvre till the eyes' 
way is barred by the smoke of the Black Country, 
though gleaming through the thinner fringe of grey 
on the left will be seen, through the gap of the 
Mosel Valley, the dim silhouette of the superb 
cathedral of Metz. The Dalheim camp was the most 
important military station between Titelberg and 
Alttrier, and was connected by road with both these 
places as well as with Treves, Arlon and Metz. 
The remains of the camp show that its shape was 
oblong. To-day bushes and flowering shrubs grow 
all round it, and in the centre rises a rather clumsy 
obelisk, on which is a gilded ball carrying a Roman 
eagle with outstretched wings. The monument, a 
landmark for miles round, was erected in 1855 by 
the Government from some of the debris of the 
camp. The inscriptions placed upon it might well 
have been simplified, such a lot of time can be 
spent over them. Two are in Latin, one in French 


and one in German. That in French is the master- 
piece. It states : — 

Rome a campe sur ce plateau. 

And nothing could exceed the simplicity and com- 
pleteness of that. It says all that need be said. But 
we are informed in Latin of the circumstances of 
the erection of the monument and of the generosity 
of the State. The third, an eye-worrying mixture 
of capital and minuscule, is an expression of re- 
joicing that Mars has retreated before Ceres. 
Curiously enough, however, while rejoicing at the 
going of Mars, the monument is clearly to the god 
of war. But Peace has hers in the radiant country- 
side. The remaining inscription is in German, and 
says : — 

Zeugend entstieg ich den drei Triimmern 
Die hier Roms Lager ziiruckliess, 

being a reference to Titelberg and Alttrier as well. 
French wins undoubtedly, for all that is required 
to bring back the legions is " Rome a camp^ sur 
ce plateau " — and a little imagination. Three Roman 
roads, running from Dalheim, can be easily traced 
to-day ; they run north, south and west. Tiles, 
pottery and coins have been dug up in great quan- 
tities, especially the latter. In 1852 a peasant who 
was ploughing unearthed three large earthenware 
vases, in which were found twenty-five thousand 
Roman coins of the various Emperors up to the 
reign of Constantine. 


Returning to the main road, which passes near 
Dalheim, a five -mile tramp brings the wanderer, 
through ideally green country, to Bous, a fairly large 
village in a circle of hills. Here a reUc of Rome 
of a different kind may be inspected. It is a fine 
mosaic in two parts, each about seven metres long 
and five wide. It is exquisite work, discovered, 
quite accidentally, in 1879. A farmer was engaged 
in the work of removing the ruins of an old house 
when he came across it, and in 1881 the Government 
erected the present hall which covers it. In this 
hall are also numerous Roman " finds." 

Again the general aspect of the scene changes 
when the traveller looks across the vineyards 
towards the Mosel. Colour and line are different. 
South Luxembourg offered all colours to the eye. 
In the Mosel Valley green predominates. The gentle 
slope carries one down to a busier life thaji has been 
seen since leaving Esch. In the distance the hills 
overlooking the river Saar make a semicircle, deep 
purple with distance. Old Remich, first and last 
town in the Grand Duchy to see the Romans, lies 
by the river, in feature and pose strikingly pictur- 
esque. August, of all seasons in this region, is a 
delight. The roadside trees are yielding their basket- 
fuls of fruit, the vineyards are giving their harvests 
to make " Mosel." The days are long and sunny 
and the air gloriously fresh. And 

It's only August now and then. 

Ah, take the wanderer's way once more, 

'Neath other skies, 'mid stranger men ! 


Une terre aimee du ciel et favoris^e des dieux. 


What sign of those that fought and died 
At shift of sword and sword? 
The barrow and the camp abide, 
The sunlight and the sward. 




The height of land between Mondorf and Remich 
cuts the south-eastern comer of the Grand Duchy in 
two. And one can stand at no other point in Luxem- 
bourg and see the scene change so suddenly. Round 
Mondorf are quiet woods and patient fields, a land- 
scape of northern tranquillity. On the eastern slope, 
however, Nature casts aside such raiment and dons 
all the charms which make the finery of Normandy. 
From a dozen heights, and far as the eye can reach, 
the green of vines and the olive and many-coloured 
golds of trees stretch down to the lovely Mosel, which, 
in silvery sweeps, flows through an immense green 
plain. Riverwards, through woods and vineyards, 
the wanderer descends to Remich, through a delight- 
ful land where Nature's touch has been the most 
tender. That gentle hand needed to care for the 
vine has given the neighbourhood the slenderest trees 
and the most delicate flowers ; there is patient moss 
for carpet ; wistful frond and exquisite turf com- 
plete the beauty on either hand, while the air has 
in it the whole sublime, subtle essence of summer. 
For miles and miles northwards the vine and the 
Mosel keep company ; and as the river grows 



larger, the soil becomes more fertile and the wiiie 
finer. Remich gives only a " petit vin," but Greven- 
macher, ten miles away, sends us " Moselbliimchen." 
At Remich, then, we stand on the outskirts of a 
great vineyard, an extensive green land where spring, 
summer and autumn are one gorgeous season. Little 
Remich itself might be a small town cut out of 
Normandy from the region of Le Petit Andely and 
Gisors ; one almost looks to see a Falaise Castle 
on yonder wooded height ; from the ramparts of 
Domfront Castle one would see the same profound 
green stillness as is here by the Mosel. The streets 
of the town, twisted, narrow, steep, recall now 
Beaumont le Roger, now Lisieux, now Coutances. 
There is a quiet life in the place which tells little 
or nothing of the storms through which it has passed. 
Indeed, no town in the whole of Luxembourg has 
got rid of the scars of war so easily. Remich sounds 
and undoubtedly was Roman. As Remacum it knew 
" the legions' iron tramp," but it faced the wrong 
way. Its position, on a slope looking towards the 
rising sun, was useless as a site for a camp, so the 
legions climbed up the Scheuerberg and built their 
wide semicircle of camps facing northwards over 
the Forest of Arduenna, whence might come, and 
did come, the foes of Imperial Rome. If Remich 
did not serve the Romans for purposes of war, it 
undoubtedly was one of their pleasure resorts. 

Later in history, however, the position changed. 
When Luxembourg was beginning to take something 
like definite shape, Remich found itself a border town, 
facing hostile lands. In the Middle Ages it was, 


without doubt, very strongly fortified, and for long 
centuries it suiTered all the misfortunes of border 
towns in all lands in warlike times. In 882 the 
Normans came into the district. Having sacked 
and burned Trier (Treves), they set out to take 
Metz. On the vast plain lying on the other side of 
the river from Remich they were met by hastily 
raised local forces, under the Bishops of Metz and 
Trier and Godefroid d'Ardenne. A desperate battle 
lasted all day, and at nightfall the local army was 
shattered by sheer weight of numbers. Many 
thousands of dead were left upon the field, including 
the Bishop of Metz. But, though victorious, the 
Normans had suffered so very heavily that they were 
unable to continue their march. So, having sacked 
and burned Remich, they retreated whence they 
came. During the disturbed sixteenth, seventeenth 
and eighteenth centuries the little town often felt all 
the weight of the march of hostile armies across it, 
but if then, fortress-decked, it looked as warlike as 
any other town in the Grand Duchy, to-day it has 
almost completely lost the savage beauty Bellona 
gave it. Save on the north side of the town, where 
an old gate leading to the quay has stood the 
test of time, no remnant of the once formidable and 
frowning fortifications is to be seen. Time has 
carried away everything of the age of war, and to- 
day Remich, a town of nearly three thousand people, 
presents a pretty picture of peace. 

In spite of all her relics of war, in spite of so 
many of them having been banished, the iron of 
a hard past has entered the soul of the pleasantry of 


this little land. There is a certain tristesse in their 
making, and in such peaceful places as Remich this 
innate sadness seems most noticeable. " Old, un- 
happy, far-off things " still appear to be held 
tenaciously in memory, and the Luxembourger mis- 
trusts the future just a little. Were it not for a 
beautiful climate and a lovely country, what a 
" dour " people the Luxembourgers would be ! They 
would have all the resignation and monotone of the 
Finns. As it is, climate and scenery enliven them 
to some extent, but these are not sufficient to chase 
away a sort of brooding solemnity and aloofness, 
that coldness bred in the race by centuries of oppres- 
sion. But if this reserve is somewhat difficult to 
penetrate in the Luxembourg peasant, it is far, how- 
ever, from shutting him off from the visitor who 
wishes to make his acquaintance. Mere curiosity 
will seldom do it, but genuine interest will. 

Remich spreads itself in an amphitheatre on the 
left bank of the river. Seen from the German side 
— a bridge, opened in 1866, connects the two banks, 
and the toll is a halfpenny — the town presents a 
long row of white and yellow houses, roofed with 
red tiles and blue slates, a beautiful fagade, above 
which rises the church, with its very ancient tower. 
To appreciate the beauty of its surroundings, perhaps 
the best thing to do is to go and have lundh in the 
roomy, vine-covered jardin-terrasse of the H6tel Belle 
Vue, Im Bourenweg. Im Bourenweg is the curious 
street which runs along the top of the ridge on, 
which the town stands, so that the veranda of the 
little hotel looks down the slope and up and down 


a long stretch of the magnificent Mosel. Besides 
the vine, fruit-trees are everywhere. Round Remich, 
indeed, is one vast garden. 

No visitor should leave Remich to continue his 
wanderings in the Grand Duchy without paying a 
visit to Prussian Nennig, on the other side of the 
river, where the finest Roman mosaic ever dis- 
covered is to be seen. It is but a couple of miles 
away, along a pleasant road girt by apple, pear and 
chestnut trees. There is quite a number of old 
chateaux here and there, and every few hundred 
yards one comes across tiny chapels and crosses in 
wood and stone, some of them finely carved and 
evidently very old. 

It was in 1852 that Nennig had fame thrust upon 
it by the discovery of a Roman villa with an extra- 
ordinarily beautiful mosaic. Prior to that date 
numerous Roman " finds " — small mosaics, coins, 
vases, etc. — were reported, but that of 1852 put 
them all in the shade. In the autumn of that year 
a small-holder, Pierre Reuter by name, was digging 
a potato-pit. His work was almost finished, when 
his spade struck, several times, a hard object, the 
contact giving out a hollow sound. He cleared away 
some of the soil, and a " parterre " of mosaic became 
visible. However, Reuter buried his potatoes in the 
pit, deciding that he would continue his investiga- 
tions in the following year. He communicated with 
the archaeological authorities, and these took in hand 
the work of clearing away the covering of earth 
about the mosaic, the excavation of the remains and 
the whole Roman villa, the erection of a hall over 


the mosaic, and that picturesque arrangement of 
everything which greets the visitor to-day. 

The mosaic is conspicuous in the first place for 
its great size. It measures fifty by thirty-three feet, 
and the only mosaic which exceeds such dimensions 
is that of Latereau. That, however, has not the 
great beauty of the Nennig treasure. The charm 
of the whole design is really magnificent ; there is 
nothing the least harsh about the colours ; the 
symmetry and execution are perfect. In the mosaic 
there are eight " medalhons," seven of which depict 
the different kinds of combat of which Roman games 
were composed. The eighth, which is that farthest 
from the entrance, carries the following inscrip- 
tion : — 




Wurde 1852 Aufgefun- 

Den und 1874 unter 


Deutschem Kaiser und 

Konig von Preussen 

Wieder Herge- 


It is not known whether that " medallion " formerly 
contained a tableau, like the others, or an inscription 
of the time of the buildetl of the villa. It was just 
about this spot that the farmer's spade first hit the 
mosaic, and no doubt some damage was done. The 
hollow sound is accounted for by the fact that beside 
this plaque a basin is sunk in the floor, and below 


the mosaic there was a passage for the water to 
pass through. 

Standing by this basin, and looking towards the 
entrance, the picture on the left represents a tiger, 
with a particularly savage look, in the act of 
dispatching a wild ass. The tableau opposite shows 
the lion and the slave. The man is conducting the 
animal to its cage after it has evidently devoured 
a horse, judging by all that remains, the head. These 
two tableaux represent the first part of the Roman 
games — fights between animals. Then begins the 
second part — combats between men and animals. In 
the centre of the mosaic is a tableau representing 
a struggle between three men and a bear. The 
bear has thrown one to the ground, and the two 
others are engaged in endeavouring to draw the 
animal off by means of blows from whips. The 
next picture, on the right of a row of three, shows 
the panther and the javelin-thrower. The animal 
has been badly wounded and is endeavouring to 
get rid of the lance which pierces its shoulder. Thfe 
gladiator is seen with another lance, raised ready to 
give the coup de gtrace. The two tableaux in line 
with this one depict the third section of the Rom'an 
games — combats between men — and the last shows 
a musician playing upon an organ. Beside him 
stands another with a great curved trumpet. One 
of the most striking features of th'e mosaic is the 
sixfold repetition of a large square, in the centre of 
which is a beautifully designed rose. 

From what remains of it to-day, it is evident that 
the villa was one of considerable size, and the 


different apartments can still be traced. In the 
centre of the villa stood a handsome atrium, 
SO feet by 30 feet, where the noble Roman who 
possessed the villa received his friends and banqueted 
them in summer-time. In front of it was a spacious 
terrace with, no doubt, a carefully tended garden 
in front. Rooms, corridors, windows, courts, baths 
there were, numerous and on a large scale, and the 
villa was certain to be artistically decorated in every 
way. And who was the noble Roman who, far 
from the revels and anxieties of Rome, some distance 
from that city of Roman pomp farther down the 
Mosel, Trier, enjoyed quiet days in this delightful 
spot? That is a secret which has not been wrested 
from the silent past. Coins of Nero and of some 
of his predecessors have been unearthed, but the 
style of the building, the fine workmanship of the 
mosaic, suggest a much earlier period than that. 
Some authorities believe that the villa was built 
in the reign of Hadrian, who loved peace and 
encouraged art. He beautified not only Rome but 
places far from the capital ; he had a weakliess 
for country houses. Into the Roman art of that 
time Grecian influences had crept, and the experts 
see in the remains of the villa evidences of that 
particular influence. Hadrian, it is held, set an 
example by the style of his villas, and the builder 
of that at Nennig followed it. 

There is another point of doubt. When the Goths 
and Huns engulfed the glory and the sordidness that 
was Rome, did they destroy the , villa? Perhaps in 
the dust of that tremendous overthrow the villa at 


Nennig was submerged too, but some say that it 
was still standing and in use when the Normans 
were marching from Trier to Metz. On the battle- 
field overlooked by the villa the Normans, though 
victorious, were, as has been related, stopped on 
their march, and besides sacking and burning Remich 
they plundered the villa and set it on fire. It was 
burned down ; but few stones stood on the tops of 
others. Gradually Mother Earth threw her pro- 
tecting cover over it. Nearly a thousand times did 
seedtime and harvest come and go above it, until 
chance sent a spade deeper than usual and the villa's 
peerless art treasure was uncovered to delight the 
eye once more. 

Years ago I ascended the Mosel Valley from Trier 
to Remich in the springtime ; last year I went the 
same journey in autumn. But I really cannot decide 
in which season I think the region is the prettier. 
I object to giving my vote in favour of one sort of 
weather against another. When a-wandering I can 
say, with Longfellow, " How beautiful is rain ! " and 
wind, even though it may 

Clothe me with fine 
Mist from the hill, 

is one of the best of talkative companions, to which 
no poet and only one or two painters have done real 
justice. All weathers have something to recommend 
them ; in them all the world is still " a world of 
hidden dimples," if only the wanderer will look with 
seeing eyes. So when the first faint flutes of spring 



are sounding, or when autumn has fanned the furnace 
of colour, when the air is embalmed with the perfume 
of new-mown hay, and the gentle breezes throw 
around " the scent of alien meadows far away," in 
both seasons the wide green valley is a wanderer's 
paradise from the first fine thrill of dawn thrown 
through the prisms of the Orient to lie gloriously 
upon the patterned silk of vineyards, till blue-lidded 
eve beams softly over all. But there was something 
to mar last autumn's pleasure — an element of tragedy 
in the Mosel Valley. There had not been a great 
deal of sun during the summer, and the grapes did 
not ripen. Disease, too, had spread badly in the 
vineyards . 

" I have never seen such a bad year for the vine," 
said the owner of a vineyard which I visited. 

' Mosel 191 2 ' will most likely be fair vinegar, but 
scarcely good wine. And if the blight spreads it 
will strip those hillsides clear of the vine." Luckily 
the apple crop was almost a record one, and he 
showed me a tree from which he had just taken 
\peventy-seven francs' worth of apples. 

An excellent road runs along the Luxembourg 
side of the river, the railway hugging the Prussian 
strand. It is a lovely road, with slopes of green on 
either hand, with the river now flowing so peace- 
fully, now bi jaking into cascades of silver and of 
melody. Then the glorious green will form the 
frame for a pretty little village — Stadtbredimus, 
Palzen, Greiweldange, Wehr, Ehnen, Wormeldange, 
Wincheringen, Rehlingen, Ahn, Machtum, Nittel and 
Wellen. Such is the sum total of them before 


Grevenmacher is reached. Occasionally, too, the 
ruins of an ancient castle, as at Thorn and Stadt- 
bredimus, add to the interest and picturesqueness 
of the landscape. Especially is that of Thorn, on the 
Prussian side of the river, remarkable. It is a grey 
old relic with huge towers — yet another striking 
evidence of that powerful individualism crushed by 
the triumph of the community, another monument 
to those proud lords who are now " dust among the 
dust that once obeyed them." 

At Grevenmacher, a little town of three thousand 
five hundred inhabitants, half hidden in a hollow, the 
traveller reaches the " bon pays " of the Mosel wine- 
land, the region producing the rarest wine of this 
fruitful region. It is a regularly built town, with a 
spacious " place " in the centre of which is a dis- 
appointingly insignificant church. Opposite is what 
was once the castle, now a set of dwelling-houses 
and once a hospital. In their time the lords of 
Machern were powerful nobles. Their castle, ruined, 
is still to be seen a kilometre up-stream opposite 
Wellen. In the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, 
in the wars of the Empire, many were the hosts that 
assailed the place ; but, as at Remich, peace has 
driven forth the signs of stormy ages of war. And 
now the road gets still more interesting and enjoy- 
able. There are more people about ; life has more 
in it ; and people must always be the most attractive 
feature of a country to the stranger. " Verily," as 
KipHng has said, " there is no life like life on the 
road-^when the skies are cool and all men are 


At Mertert the Syre meets the Mosel, and the real 
wanderer will certainly turn aside to explore that 
stream. We have already, from the height of 
Dalheim, looked upon the country in which it has 
its rise, and if the traveller is inclined to trace hi,s 
steps back to within sight of the monument there, 
he will certainly see some most captivating country. 
And what a string of pretty little villages lie beside 
that beautiful river ! There is Betzdorf, with its 
fine modern chiteau ; Schrassich, guarding the gor- 
geous wooded valley of Birel, with its picturesque 
castle and mill, and, high above, the ruins of a 
castle ; Oetrange, a quaint little villa-ge ; and, though 
the list is by no means exhaustive, Contern, most 
interesting of all. Contern stands a little way from' 
the river, on an imposing eminence. Here, too, 
Rome camped. Contern was the Imperial Con- 
ciniacum,' it is believed, though some place it at 
Conz, which, where Sarre and Mosel join, has the 
remains of a Roman villa. But in the neighbourhood 
of Contern, too, Roman pillars and sculptures, coins 
and vases have been unearthed. There is every 
reason to believe, therefore, that an Imperial villa 
existed here, where more than one of the Cassars 
found rest and quiet, at a spot dominating a wide 
extent of landscape in which such legions of restful 
hues march together and there is a peace that comes 
near to perfection. Later, upon the site of the Roman 
villa, a castle was built. Remnants of it there are 
to-day. From pretty Contern to Syren, where the 

" There are several variations of the name, such as Conciacum, 
Contionatum and Concionacum. 


source of the river is to be found, is a most delightful 

Wasserbillig, the next place of importance, has 
a history which carries it back to the times when 
Trier was almost another Rome. Constantine's 
mother made it part of the monastery of St. Maximin, 
and, well within the city's sphere of influence, it was 
a centre of religious life. To-day it is a place of 
another kind. The railway has come and the vine- 
yards are fruitful. Wasserbillig is commercial and 
prosperous. A railway bridge runs across the river, 
and a second has taken the place of a fine old 
structure dating from* the fifteenth century. Thus 
does the need of to-day banish the interesting ves- 
tiges of the past. It was a charming old bridge, 
Uttle more than nine feet wide, and having five 
curiously unequal arches. At Wasserbillig the 
wanderer in the Grand Duchy must bid farewell to 
the Mosel, receiver of all the rivers of Luxembourg 
save one, and ascend the Sure, along the bank of 
which a delightful walk of fourteen miles brings 
him to lovely Echternach. 

Time has dealt hardly with relics of the past in 
that section of the Mosel Valley which forms part of 
Luxembourg. You leave the past at Sierk, and you 
live mostly in the present, until, if you follow the 
Mosel, you reach Igel and Trier. But these are away 
from our little Grand Duchy. Yet Trier and Mosel 
were long Rome and Tiber to a great realm, and 
Echternach and Sure, catching the radiance early, 
helped in the great work of spreading it abroad. So 
mounting the Sure, past Born and Wintersdorf and 


Rosport, the town which was for centuries a lamp 
to Luxembourg is reached, and one steps back for a 
little into " the Past, its ripe plaisance." A little 
masterpiece of making is Echternach. Protecting 
heights throw themselves round north and north-east 
and ward off the coldest winds. Woods are scattered 
all around, sheltering strange domains which founders 
of Fairyland might not have made better. A " Little 
Switzerland " lies round about it ; a beautiful river 
flows by it. Excepting Luxembourg, no town of 
the Grand Duchy has such a story to tell ; few 
places, indeed, have such beauty to show — beauty of 
vineyard and forest, of orchard and pastures, of 
mount and vale. 

The Escht Hernach of the Celt and the Epterna- 
cum (doubtless only a villa regia) of the Roman, 
Echternach really owes its place and fame to neither 
of these. It comes out of the darkness of Time, 
a hundred years before the coming of greatness to 
Charlemagne, two long centuries before the fortress 
of Luxembourg really began to prepare itself for 
the battles of long ages. It was an Englishman who 
lit the lamp of faith in Echternach, one, born by 
the shores of the Humber, who was of that great 
band of Englishmen who planted the beacons of 
faith far and wide upon the Continent. England 
has all but forgotten her Willibrord ; Rome and 
Luxembourg count him among the saints. Echter- 
nach is St. Willibrord's town ; the candle he lighted 
burned, radiating light and learning, for eleven cen- 
turies, until the sacrilegious Sansculottes snuffed it 
out. Just as the seventh century was dying, this 




Bonaparte of the Bible came to Trier, and from the 
Princess Irmine, daughter of King Dagobert II, 
received the little monastery of Echternach, to be 
a home for the missionaries of the Cross and a refuge 
for the poor. And just as the baron's castle drew 
around it the homes of retainers, sO' the monastery 
of Echternach, upon which Pope and King showered 
gifts, attracted many people to the lands it protected, 
taught them the craft of the soil and in them instilled 
the faith. But crosier as well as sword may have 
power in too great a degree. At times the wealth 
of the monastery bred inside it an undesirable wish 
for more ; it made the holder of many a sceptre 
outside envious of such power and riches. So at 
times crosier and cross were ranged against sword 
and sceptre — and all suffered. Abbot succeeded 
abbot from 698 to 1795, till a roll of seventy- 
one of them was told, and the remains of the 
first, of the saint, were scattered. And now, for 
more than a century, the town of St. Willibrord 
has had no national or spiritual r61e to play. Its 
glory is no more, but there remains more than a 
" flickering snatch of memory that floats " in and 
about it. 

The years have not altered Echternach to any 
very great extent. Still its streets are narrow and 
rough ; still its houses are quaint and small ; here 
and there a tradesman's curious sign arrests the eye. 
Save for a new hotel or two, and modern villas 
dotted among the clusters of surrounding green, the 
town has little that is new about it. It is a square 
town, and the gently flowing Sure flanks it on two 


sides. Fitting closely into the angle between river 
and railway is the park, or, as the people call it, 
" le jardin du casino." And a pleasant little jardin 
de plaisance it is, too. At the entrance a fountain 
makes music, throwing sunbeams and spray up almost 
to the tops of the encircling beeches. What long- 
past ages seem to find an echo in its song ! In pretty 
parterres flowers bloom in a bewildering variety of 
hues ; everywhere trees cast a pleasant, sequin- 
embroidered shadow on the delightful turf. At the 
point overlooking the river stands the Louis XV 
pavilion. From it one can look over the buildings 
which formed the monastery of old and over the town 
lying beyond, and up and down the river. The 
pavilion is, so it is said, the work of the last of the 
seventy-one abbots. The noise of the first rumblings 
of the French Revolution had penetrated intoi the 
quiet of his domain. He feared the coming of 
the wreckers ; he wished for a place of repose and 
contemplation. So he built the picturesque pavilion 
of prayer, from which he could survey the realm 
so soon to be wrested from him. The building 
has, happily, been carefully preserved. That is 
something to be thankful for, for Echternach has 
been anything but careful of its rich historical 

From the park the view is charming — the Basilica 
with its two fine towers, the extensive abbey build- 
ings, and the parish church of St. Peter and St. Paul 
standing behind on an eminence. Of this mass of 
buildings the chief and most interesting is the Basilica 
of St. Willibrord, in common speech the " Kluster- 


kirch " or " eglise abbatiale." The present building 
dates from the eleventh century, the original having 
been destroyed half a century before the Norman 
Conquest. It was in Roman Gothic style, but the 
extensive alterations of 1250 and 1861 have 
obUterated many of its characteristics. In the 
former year the present roof was added, and the large 
windows seen to-day were substituted for the previous 
small ones. The French, in 1794, pillaged it and 
did great damage, using it as barracks, hospital 
and stables. As though that were not vengeancie 
enough, some of the abbey buildings and the church 
were sold — to an earthenware manufacturer ! In 
the Basilica this individual erected his furnaces, and 
the complete ruin of the building was threatened. 
With curious indifference the people of Echternach 
stood by and did nothing, till the usual " ligue " 
was formed. The " Societ6 pour la Restauration 
de la Basilique " did manage to rouse people 
to indignation regarding the desecration of the 
church, and generous gifts and a Government 
grant brought in sufficient funds to enable the 
church to be restored to that condition in wthich we 
see it to-day. 

The building is very handsome, though the treat- 
ment it has received has robbed it of much of its 
distinctive style. In spite of that, however, there 
is nothing very ugly or unpleasing about it, though 
colour has been somewhat lavishly used. High, 
narrow and oblong, it has a beautiful interior. There 
are two chapels on the south side and ope on the 
north, and down each side square and round pillars 


alternate, the latter with Corinthian capitals. A note- 
worthy feature is that the choir is lighted by three 
high windows, of the same description as those to 
be found in Enghsh churches of like age, and occa- 
sionally in France. The high altar is particularly 
beautiful, and the mural decorations tasteful and 
harmonious. At the entrance to the choir stands 
the magnificent shrine of St. Willibrord. His ashes, 
as I have said, were scattered by the French revolu- 
tionaries, but, it appears, some of the dust was 
recovered and found a resting-place below the high 
altar of the church of St. Peter and St. Paul. In 
1906, with the greatest solemnity and pomp, the 
remains were transferred to the Basilica. The tomb 
is of Carrara marble, exquisitely carved — a pleasant 
resting-place for the eyes, which, it must be admitted, 
at times grow tired of the almost constant red of the 
interior . 

Below the choir is a crypt where can be seen 
some of the remains of the original eighth-century 
church. It was there that St. Willibrord was first 
laid to rest. There are several memorial plaques 
on the church walls — one concerning the famous 
Abbot Bertels who wrote the first History of Luxem- 

The abbey domains, as they can be seen to-day, 
thrown round the Basilica, buildings and gardens, 
were the creation, early in the eighteenth century, 
of the Benedictine abbot Gr^goire Schouppe, but 
they were not destined to remain intact for long., 
The year 1794 brought desolation here too, and the 
abbey buildings were subsequently put to various 


secular uses. The abbey accounts for no less than 
a quarter of the entire extent of Echternach, and 
imagination can easily picture the superb place it 
must have been when the monks were there — the fine 
buildings, the pavilion, the park, statues, fountains 
playing among the beeches and the orange-trees. 
Surely these must have made the place more like 
a Mansfeld palace than a domain of prayer and 
service. The splendour has gone. Soldiers of the 
Revolution drove the monks forth and made barracks 
of the buildings. To-day, in one part is a girls' 
school ; in another the gendarmerie are housed. A 
gymnasium, a dairy, electricity works and some public 
offices monopolize the rest. There is little to detain 
one now. Not far away, a minute or two from the 
entrance to the park, rises the beautiful old church 
of St. Peter and St. Paul — the parish church. 
Before climbing the famous staircase the visitor 
should see St. Willibrord's Hospice. It is opposite 
the church, this second oldest hospice in all Europe. 
Here, at least, is something with which Time has 
been gentle. Before this humble little place even 
the ruthless Sansculotte put up his sword and bowed 
his head. Here Time has been guardian angeU 
And just fancy this : Twelve hundred years ago 
and more the Abbess Irmine gave this hospice to 
St. Willibrord, and the saint decided that it would 
be a home for poor and infirm old men. Such it 
has been for twelve long centuries, and even to-day 
the Mother Superior of the quaint old place ministers 
to the wants of a dozen vieillards, housed in curious, 
old, small buildings, but happy in the quiet evening" 


of their lives. And there, too, is a tiny chapel 
which must have heard the prayers of the saint. 
A soothing place to linger in is this hospice. All 
the contemporaries of its earliest years have fallen 
before the onslaught of the years save one — the old 
H6tel Dieu in Paris. May that serene haven of 
rest ever be there to welcome worn wayfarers ! Near 
by, beside the building in which the gendarmerie are 
housed, and opposite the hospice, in a grilled grotto 
in the rock upon which the church stands, streams 
a fountain of water. This is St. Willibrord's Well. 
At one time, so it is said, it bubbled up out of the 
rock beside the altar in the crypt of the church 
above. For a long time the quality of the water 
was greatly praised, but a municipality is a coldly 
reasoning body, uninfluenced by tradition as a rule. 
Above the grotto the City Fathers of Echternach 
have placed a notice warning people not to dtrink 
the water. 

I like the old parish church of St. Peter 
and St. Paul — commonly I'Eglise de Saint - 
Pierre — better than the Basilica. It stands on a 
" butte " of rock, and doubtless its foundations are 
upon a spot where stood a church built in the 
very early centuries of the Christian era. In the 
Abbess Irmine's time a sacred Christian edifice stood 
there. The plateau is shaded by trees, surrounded 
by old walls, and reached by stairs from north an,d 
south. The principal approach is the former, a flig^ht 
of sixty steps worn by the patient feet of pilg'rimis, 
though now, as I shall presently relate, they come no 
longer. The chuirch does not present anything that 


is modern to the eye. Viewed from the exterior, 
though it looks old and somewhat decrepit, the 
purity of the Roman style in which it is built and 
its simplicity are at once striking and pleasing. How 
admirable is its position ! Echternach, the quaint 
and olden, lies huddled aroimd ; beyond lies a wide 
extent of wood, pasture, vine and com lands. Its 
dark, hoary walls are wrinkled and seared with age, 
while round it the trees' branches gently wave like 
the banners in a cathedral. Nor has any one been 
concerned to give the interior that pomp of colour 
which has been bestowed upon the Basilica. It 
remains simple out of the ages, quiet as befits age ; 
it is whitewashed roughly and almost bam-like in 
appearance. Echternach and the Church have been 
niggardly to this holy building, or why that poor 
wooden altar in shabby Louis XV style? The pulpit 
and the holy table are also of wood and in the same 
style, and one turns from them to look at the curious 
picture on the right of the choir. It dates from 
1554, and shows the saint blessing the dancers as 
they leave the Basilica. Beneath the picture is a 
sort of cupboard which contains one of the vestments 
of the saint, his hair shirt and one of the arrows 
which, it is said, killed St. Sebastian, and which St. 
Willibrord obtained in Rome. However one may 
doubt the authenticity of the third relic, there is no 
reason for being sceptical about the others. Below 
the high altar is the Roman sarcophagus in which 
the remains of St. Willibrord rested until 1906. 
Truly there are not many churches which have pre- 
served, as has done that of St. Peter and St. Paul, 


their simplicity and venerableness . So it wins a 
regard, in those who know it, never attained by 
proudest art and most pompous ritual. 

Echternach is widely famous for the great dancing 
procession which takes place in the town every 
Whitsun Tuesday. Annually this curious rite draws 
to the town about twenty thousand " pilgrims " and 
probably as many more spectators. These come 
from far and near. The origin of this dance is 
lost in the mists of the ages, and though it is men- 
tioned for the first time in records bearing a date 
as late as the end of the sixteenth century, there is 
little reason to believe that this singular ceremony 
was not held for a considerable period prior to 
that. Pilgrimages to the tomb of Saint Willibrord 
began early in the eighth century, very soon after 
the demise of the saint. From those pilgrimagies 
doubtless the dancing procession was evolved. 
Tradition has it that the evolution was fairly rapid, 
and that before the eig'hth century had waned it 
was already the great religious ceremony of Echter- 
nach. An epizootic distemper, it is said, seized the 
cattle in the neighbourhood, and the people, dis- 
tressed at seeing the animals frantic and in con- 
vulsions, turned to the shrinie of the saint with their 
prayers and offerings. A homoeopathy of faith made 
them proceed dancing to the tomb. Their faith 
had its reward ; the animals all got well. Authori- 
ties civil and religious have often endeavoured to 
put a stop to the ceremony, which lent itself to 
abuses, but only on one occasion did they succeed. 
And then the disease reappeared amongst the cattle. 


So it has been held ever since. Now, however, 
though the form of old is preserved, it is not so 
much the welfare of the animals that the dancers 
are concerned about. They hope to propitiate the 
spirit which sends convulsive ailments to mankind. 
They dance for personal reasons, and they can dance 
by deputy. One member of a family may represent 
all the others ; a boy may dance for his bedridden 

Religious dancing is very old, but now it only exists 
in odd corners of Europe. It is likely to live for 
a long time yet in Echternach, for the people do not 
give the slightest sign of becoming " modern " 
enough to disbelieve in this ancient rite. On the 
Prussian side of the river, beyond the bridge, at 
the old cross where the four roads ineet, the thousands 
of dancers, old, middle-aged and young, male and 
female, assemble early in the morning*. At eight 
o'clock, after a sermon in the open air, the great 
Maximilian bell in the parish church steeple tolls — 
that is the signal for the procession to start. (The 
bell, by the way, was presented to Echternach by 
the Emperor Maximilian in 1 5 1 2 in remembrance 
of his pilgrimage to St. Willibrord's tomb in that 
year. It weighs about three and a half tons.) The 
dancers begin to fall into line. At the head are the 
clergy, chanting, and following them comes the long 
file of dancers, singers, praying pilgrims and 
musicians in no settled order, the musicians being 
scattered along the whole length of the procession. 
On the bridge the dance begins, opened by a number 
of boys. It is a curious movement to the accompani- 



merit of this age-old, polka-like tune, played on a 
great variety of instruments : — 



i ^^JE^ 

^-' J J:^-[j E=5 





W L 









-^^ — r»- 





^ ^^^^^^^^ 


















Tr ^ rTfT^-irv^M-^ 


^^-eisj -b 


The movement consists of taking five steps for- 
wards and then three backwards ; the motion is 
slow and sedate, and it is a most curious sight to 
see the swaying procession wending its way slowly 


through the streets. The distance to be covered, 
from the bridge to the Basilica, is scarcely three- 
quarters of a mile, yet it takes five or six hours for 
the entire procession to pass over the route. Until 
a few years ago — up to the time of the removal of 
St. iWillibrord's tomb to the Basilica — the dancers 
proceeded to the church of St. Peter and St. Paul 
where the remains of the saint lay. To reach that 
church a flight of sixty steps must be climbed, and 
to climb it in the way tnentioned was certaiinly a 
test of physical endurance after five or six hours 
of " dancing." In 1906, however, the tomb of the 
saint was removed to the Basilica, and there the 
procession now comes to its end, without any such 
final feat of strength. The dancers pass before the 
tomb, place their offerings before it, and then leave 
the church. In 191 2 it is said that 22 banner- 
carriers, 119 priests, 357 musicians, 3,913 singers, 
3,402 praying pilgrims and 12,163 dancers took 
part in the procession, a total of 19,976. 

Though certainly picturesque, the procession un- 
doubtedly has its painful and objectionable features. 
It is pitiful to see a lot of old and infirm people, 
who should be at home, struggling along in this 
painful manner. Most of them, indeed, fall out long 
before the end. The ceremony, however, is one 
which will die hard ; every year it appears to grow 
more popular, though, of course, it can scarcely 
be denied that religion becomes ever a lesser factor 
in making people join in it. For the occa-sion 
Echternach is always gaily decorated. The windows 

of all the houses are brightened with flowers ; flags 



and streamers float in the air. As for the crowds 
of spectators, it is a marvel where they all come 
from. People line the streets thickly on both sides, 
and those who do not take part in the procession 
or fill the passive r61e of spectators crowd the 
churches of the town from as early an hour as 
five o'clock. Early in the afternoon, when the 
ceremony has concluded, a fair begins, aind merri- 
ment is the order for the rest of the day among the 
crowds in the streets, while stall and sideshow and 
roundabout provide amusements until late at night, 
with a fainter echo on the following day. 

Echternach's quiet, narrow old streets radiate from 
a spacious market-place, and there is to be seen one 
of the most I curious buildings in t^e Duchy. It is 
the DingstuHl, perhaps the most interesting and dis- 
tinctive relic of the Middle Ages that exists. The 
style is Gothic, and the date of construction must be 
placed somewhere about the middle of the fifteenth 
century. It has recently been very admirably 
restored. The ground floor consists of an open hall 
or arcade, above which are two stories, the roof 
having two large and half a dozen small turrets. 
The face of the building, which protrudes consider- 
ably in front of those beside it, is decked with six 
statues, of nobody in particular, I believe, and the 
delightfully fine sculpture at the tops of the windows 
must attract attention. In common speech, the 
Dingstuhl is the " Denzelt." The name Dingstuhl, 
of course, is derived from " dingen," to deliberate, 
and " Stuhl," seat. It was, therefore, the place for 
the meeting of the local council, where justice was 


'I'o iLiue p. 130. 


administered by the City Fathers, over whom pre- 
sided the mayor, or Schultheiss. Yearly a curious 
gathering took place in the hall. It was the 
Jahrgeding. All the freemen of the city were bound 
to attend, and the local by-laws were read over to 
them. These fixed the rights of the burghers and 
the various punishments to be inflicted for wrong*- 
doing. The city magistrates in olden days were the 
servants of the Abbey. In the Basilica they were 
required to take solemn oath of allegiance to the 
Abbot. At that time the Dingstuhl contained the 
prison and, for a long period, the chamber of torture. 
The local council still holds its meetings in the 

Opposite the Dingstuhl is the old Hotel de Ville, 
which in Echternach, and in Trier as well, has 
the popular description of " Unter den Steilen " 
— " Under the Pillars " — on account of the fact that 
its ground floor is in the form of an arcade or open 
hall, very similar to that of the Dingstuhl. But it 
has not been so well preserved. Private persons have 
come into possession and have carried out building 
alterations which have nearly swept away the original 
character of the building. Here, in days of old, 
the representatives of the trade guilds, with the 
Stadtbaumeister at their head, met and deliberated, 
and in the arcade were the shops and stalls of traders. 
It will be noticed that the style of each of the five 
remaining pillars differs. The reason is that each 
was designed by a different trade guild, and those 
standing to-day are said to have been put up by the 
butchers, bakers, fishers, merchants and smiths. 


Early one morning, just when the softness of the 
first sunshine was being thrown over all, I left 
Echternach and climbed up Troosknepchen to the 
well-worn pavilion there. It is a most beautiful 
spot, glorious with blossom and blade, around which 
the floating hair of trees is blown about the skies 
and the halcyon breath of morning is gooid as new 
wine. There one sees best of all the immortal love- 
liness of Echternach, lying well protected in a 
widened valley of deepest translucent green. Its 
pristine glory is departed ; its warfare is accom- 
plished. But still there is something] strangely 
alluring in the place ; it is curiously fascinating to 
look down upon the little town which for long 
centuries was a lamp to the feet of so many, where 
an English saint fought his fights for the Cross, 
where a glorious abbey sprang up rich and powerful 
beyond the dreams of avarice, its glory and the even 
tenor of its way often disturbed and finally swept 
away by the sword. Still there is much to recall 
the days of old ; there is a remnant of greatness ; 
there is the full meed of peace. Out of this subdued 
little city of memories, many things that were 
precious mingle " with the dust of alien thing's " ; 
but memories are, after all, possessions beyond price 
— they are the spirit of a place. Echternaich has 
them in fullest measure, and she will 

Hold for ever sacro-sanct 
Such dewy memories as these. 


In woods men feel : in towns they think. 

Alfred Austin. 

At a leap 
Thou shalt strike a woodland path, 
Enter silence, not of sleep, 
Under shadows, not of wrath. 

George Meredith. 



ECHTERNACH seems to attract the modem tourist 
to a degree which is not excelled by any other part 
of the Grand Duchy of Luxembourg. Yet, I think, 
there is no part of our little Ruritania wMch is so 
slightly known as that curious and beautiful region 
which lies between Echternach and the Erenz Noire 
— the " little Switzerland " of the country, as it has 
most appropriately and justly been called. And the 
reason, I am sure, is this. The district cannot be 
properly explored save afoot, and that by rough 
tracks and forest paths. Motor-car and bicycle must 
remain on the outskirts of this most entrancing 
piece of country, and they and the railway will not 
help visitors for more than a mile or two here and 
there. Unless they travel light, the " little Switzer- 
land " must remain terra incognita to the wanderers. 
Go afoot, and if kilometres in goodly number do not 
frighten you, then in " Nature's infinite book of 
secrecy " you will read a little more. 

One beautiful summer day I was fortunate enough 
to be asked to join a motor-car party travelling from 
Remich to Echternach. I say fortunate enough, 
because, knowing the intervening country, I was in 



a hurry to reach Echternach, where there was still 
a good deal for me to explore. In a few hours 
we were carried from one town to the other. That 
was bad enough for the others, who were visiting 
the country for the first time, and it appeared to 
me to be something akin to sacrilege to rush in 
a cloud of dust at many miles an hour along that 
most glorious of rivers, Schiller's " Virgin of 
Lorraine." But worse than that was still to come. 
iWe arrived at Echternach late in the afternoon, and 
in the morning I asked my friends what their plans 
were. Oh, they were going on to Vianden ; there 
was only one road fit for the car, so that it was 
all that was to be done. They wanted me to come 
farther with them, but my excuse was that there 
were roads round about Echternach to keep me 
busy and happy for weeks. 

Probably the remaining part of this book would 
be insufficient to do the full justice they deserv^e 
to the beauties and curiosities of the Echternach 
region. 1 shall, therefore, have to pick and choose 
in my wanderings, and leave to any one who may, 
be following where I went something to discover 
for himself. There is certainly not in Europe a 
more extraordinary rock region than that at the 
gates of which we now stand. It is as though some 
vast pagan frieze had been scattered over it in dis- 
array, the gauds of some long-vanished mig'ht of 
art or religion, the mighty cenotaphs of a faith 
whose light has long been spent, the victims of 
a devastating shock which the kindly Mother Earth 
has not yet had time to cover with her mantle. 


It is, of course, the sea which has given us this 
majestic region of mass and music — river and wind 
music — this rock symphony, Strauss in stone. Above 
it the ocean waves once rolled to beat on the shore 
near Brandenbourg and Vianden. Cleft and cavern 
once made the " dark, unfathomed caves of ocean." 
Now they are high and dry, great and narrow path- 
ways through rock -heart, where sometimes there is 
not room for two persons to pass, deep, dark caverns 
into the earth, winding stairs through labyrinths, 
where even on the hottest summer day the air is 
icy cold. The gigantic maze would please Rein- 
hardt, and in it the imagination of Conan Doyle 
or H. G. Wells might find places which would serve 
as the scenes for works of weird imagination. Some- 
times a narrow way through the rock will carry 
the wanderer up to a high rock's top, offer him a 
gorgeous view, and then quickly carry him down 
again into an abyss strange with the awesomeness 
of another world. 

The greatest glory of the region is the Miil- 
lerthal, which is the valley of the Erenz Noire, the 
charming river of which we shall see something in our 
wander across country to Mersch, as its waters ripple 
and sing through the Blumenthal. The quick and 
easy way to reach the valley from Echternach is, 
of course, to go by train to Grundhiof, where the 
Erenz Noire pours its waters into the Sure, and then 
ascend the valley by the excellent main road. Those 
who take that route are beyond advice. 

It was a German student — " sechs Schmisse zierten 
seine Wang' " — who enticed me up to the pavilion. 


I presumed he wished me to come there because he 
had the general German weakness for such erections 
on points of vantage, but the spirit of "Die alte 
Bursghenherrhchkeit " led us on in company from 
point to point, until ten hours later we foimd ourselves 
engaging a room together at Grundhof. A German 
is a good wanderer in other countries. As an 
emigrant he drops his nationality with a rapidity 
which has always been remarkable. Probably the 
reason is that he is more sensitive than are others 
to the patriotism of the place in which he finds 
himself. And here was the student already not far 
removed from being a patriotic Luxembourger. He 
had fished down Alzette and up Our ; he knew the 
history of the country from its stormy youth, and 
no one Duchy -born could have been more enthu- 
siastic about the little country's glories. And dis- 
cussing them we reached the pavilion from which 
we had what we thought would be our last view — 
and a delightful one it was — of Luxembourg's little 

Then you plunge into the forest, and soon the first 
scouts of Rockland are encountered, massive boulders 
scattered on either side of the path. A few minutes 
later you stand at the entrance to the Wolfsscblucht, 
one of the hugest and most curious of the gorges of 
this region. The cleft in the great rock is, roundly, 
a score of feet wide, and down into it a rough stair- 
way leads ; 150 feet high, the rock faces tower on 
either side, and, scattered here and there, flowers 
and bushes find a foothold. Guarding this gorge 
stands a most extraordinary obelisk, reminding one 

(Echternach and the Sure in the background.) 

To face p. 138. 


of Cleopatra's Needle. This " fl^che " and the faces 
of the rocks have been cunningly carved by the 
elements, but they look as though Ung of old here, 
too, had been busy with his rough chisel and his 
hammer. Push on — it's rough going I — through the 
gorge, which is over 150 yards long", and the deeper 
the visitor penetrates into it the more like a feudal 
castle in ruins does the appalling confusion of rock 
become. Then on the left another minor gorge will 
be seen. It is the Teufelsschart, or Devil's Cleft. 
By going through it and scrambling upwards the 
top of the greatest of the rocks is reached, and a 
little rough manoeuvring will bring you to a spot 
from which you see distant Echternach in the frame 
of the .Wolfsschlucht. The river leads the eye away 
to Prussian Weilerbach, with its factories, and to 
still more distant wooded Bollendorf. 

The woodland path descends ; it crosses the Hegel- 
bach, and quickly comes within earshot of the faint 
music of the Aesbach, a little stream' which, for some 
kilometres, entangles itself with the roadway and 
in the deep, silent little pools of which trout wax 
fat. Soon comes another giant's handful of rocks, 
a massive maze called " the Labyrinth." It looks like 
a pigmies' tovm turned, for some stupendous sin 
of the little people, into imprisoning boulders. Still 
streets and ruelles are there in bewildering number, 
and in this rock-town it is easy to lose oneself. 

Just as we had left the dwarfs' town another 
German, facially " adorned " in the same manner as 
my companion, with Riicksack, a knickerbocker suit 
of tweeds, the pattern for which must have been a 


caricature of John Bull in Ulk or Sitnplms- 
simus, with a hug'e pipe and a thick stick, met us, 
coming from the right. We saluted him with 
" Guten Tag I " and passed on, going straight ahead. 
Half a minute later a loud voice came from behind 
us : " Rechts gehen I Rechts gehen I " iWje turned 
and saw the huge pipe and the thick stick being 
flourished in front of the check suit. " Sie miissen 
rechts gehen I Rechts gehen ! " There was evi- 
dently something the matter, so when pipe and stick 
no longer gyrated in a manner to make approach 
a matter of danger we spread o.ut a huge map and 
consulted our stentorian adviser, who would certainly 
have made a champion club-swinger. 

On the map he traced a new path for us, first 
along the Halsbach, which, near where we were 
standing, came to join the Aesbach, and then towards 
the Sure, parallel to the way by which we had 
come, finally reaching our path about half a mile 
to the rear. The German could flourish long de- 
scriptive adjectives with the same facility as that 
with which he swung his pipe and stick. The idea 
that we should miss the Welkeschkammer and 
Geierslay, to say nothing of Zigeunerlay, was " iiber- 
haupt dumm." They were " grossartig," " kolossal," 
" reizend," " herrlich," " fabelhaft," and worthy at 
least of twenty other adjectives. He was going 
to the Labyrinth, would wait there till we came 
round, and accompany us to Berdorf, where he had 
found an inn to his liking. 

Near where Aesbach and Halsbach join stands 
Le P6r6kop, one of the mightiest rocks of this region. 


a rough mass parted in the middle, so that there is 
a " couloir " up which it is possible to struggle to 
the top, an admirable view-point. German Student 
Number Two had just come down when we encoun- 
tered him, and Number One and I both knew it 
of old. So we passed it by this time, noting no 
difference on its weather-worn face. We turned to 
the right and plunged into the narrow glade through 
which Halsbax;h sings to join the almost silent 
Aesbach in order, it would seem, to teach it how 
to sing. Trees huddle closely together about the 
path ; mosses, grasses and flowers nearly succeed 
in obscuring the way ; an almost excluded sun lets 
twilight reign ; no human hand has sought to intro- 
duce order in this " bee-loud glade." An obliging'ly 
placed sign-post, however, soon tells you that it is 
no virgin forest you are exploring. An arrow points 
the way to the Welkeschkammer — that is, the buck- 
wheat depot. The way is an extremely stiff one, 
and it leads to the depot, which is in the form of 
a sort of dungeon in the rock, 4 or 5 feet from 
floor to ceiling, and in size about 12 by 16 feCit. 
Who kept buckwheat here I confess I don't know, 
but after the long sojourn in the shade it is pleasant 
to see once more a sunny landscape, which you can 
through openings in the rock ; a delightful land- 
scape it is, covered with " a veil of versicoloured 
light." Here we were high above the topmost 
branches of the trees, in a curious, cool retreat from 
which only the arrangement to rrteet the other German 
drove us all too soon. 

Quite close by is another curious rock formation 


called the Zigeunerlay, or the Rock of the Bohemian. 
There is a huge grotto, the overhangiing stone being 
of the most bizarre shape, and in it stand table 
and chairs of stone. It is said, though I am not 
sure with complete truth, that it got its name from 
a Prussian who exiled himself here in order to escape 
from military service during the Franco-Prussian 

On through the forest we went, after some care,- 
less wandering, by a path leading eastwards agfain, 
a way which we had some difficulty in finding. Two 
woodland ways, it appears, run up the Halsbach 
valley, and the path we searched for cuts off from 
that on the left bank. It leads along the top of 
the wooded embankment on the left side of the 
Aesbach, twists and turns, until, within but a short 
distance of the Sure, the Geierslay is reached. 

The name means " Rock of Vultures," and the 
" massif," with the usual pavilion on thie top, stands 
prominently alone, the highest point on the plateau, 
wedged in between Sure and Aesbach. There is 
no finer view-point anywhere in this region, and 
we felt very friendly towards Student Number Two 
who had set us on thje way to find it. It is easily 
reached from Echternach — the town makes a charm- 
ing picture seen from the top of the rock — by taking 
the main road along the Sure's right bank and then 
that which branches off where the Aesbach goes 
under road and rail to join the larger river. From 
the rock we descended quickly to the Aesbach path, 
and were soon at the Labyrinth, where we foun^d 
Student Number Two contentedly swinging his stick 


as he sat upon one of the rocks upon which he 
had carved his initials. 

Off we went in single file along the narrow path 
by the Aesbach. Sometimes the tiny brook hummed 
gently through grassy and mossy surroundings ; at 
others it was merely a string of crystal-clear pools 
scattered twistingly among the rocks. Soon we came 
across a gigantic triple grotto, one huge open 
chamber and two smaller and dark ones. This is 
La Hollay, the Hollow Rock, which a few years 
ago was difificult of access, but now the path makes 
it quite easy to reach,. Tradition has it that the 
Romans ground their corn here, and it is said that 
the circular cuttings on walls and roof are caused 
by their chiselling grind-stones from the rock. But 
why, in this rock-rich region, the Roman, who was 
a practical person, should put up a scaffold and 
carve a piece out of the ceilingi for the purpose is 
somewhat obscure. It seems going so far out of the 
way to find hard and unnecessary work. Neither 
can I believe that the Romans carried their corn 
to this outlandish forest hermitage to grind it. No ; 
some other people, I am sure, hollowed this rock, 
or increased the size of the natural grotto they 
found, for the cavern has clearly been cut by some 
one and is not natural as seen to-day. 

The vast rock is moss-covered. From the largest 
entrance to the farthest inner point is between 70 
and 80 feet, and the broadest part of the interior 
about 40. Pillars, hanging between roof and floor 
as waterspouts between cloud and sea, have been left 
as supports. The walls and parts of the roof are 


covered with carved and painted initials, while 
numerous bold inscriptions tell of the visits of various 
associations — choirs, tourist societies, this, that and 
the other association have placed there the fairly 
durable record of their sojourn in this cool cave. 
Some ought really to have been charged a feu- 
duty, so great is the area they have monopolized, 
and all should have been prevented from doing it. 

" But at any rate," declared Student Number Two, 
" here is an interesting inscription." And he pointed 
to one high up on the rock outside the cavern. It 
is one of those puzzle inscriptions of which' the 
Luxembourger is so fond, and it is in German as 
follows : — 

Herzliches Vivat ! 

Einer hohen Regierung 

welche diese sehenswerthen Sch 

luchten & Hohlwege 

dem Publicum zugaenglich 

gemacht hat 

Die Jugend von Berdorf. 


Die Jugend von Berdorf delivers its praise in a 
puzzle ; it puts the laurel crown it aw;ards in a 
maze. If you read the letters which are underlined, 
you find the name Eischen (which, by the way, 
should really be Eyschen), Paul, otherwise his Excel- 
lency Monsieur Paul Eyschen, Minister of State, who 
during his tenure of office has done much to open up 
the wonders and curiosities of this region to those 
who wander in it. 

A few minutes after leaving the Hollow Rock 


the path conducts the wanderer from the forest's 
shades and leads him across fields to Berdorf, a 
village straggling for about half a mile along a 
road at right angles to our path. It has about 
seven or eight hundred inhabitants, a long row of 
houses, broken only by its church, a building roofed 
with slates and whitewashed, an ordinary enough 
village were it not for two things. In the first 
place it stands high in Sonne und Luft, i,ooo feet 
up on a plateau ringed round by the green of 
woods, breathing an air which is ether. I fancy that 
when the sea swept over this region Berdorf was 
an islet looking over the waves to its neighbour 

German Student Number Two led us to a little 
hotel near the church and invited us to lunch. Then 
we discovered that he had been en villdgiature here 
for three weeks, leisurely appreciating the charms 
of the neighbourhood, but never straying far from 
the good air of Berdorf. Here we enjoyed the 
Simple Life with good cookery, which is the Simple 
Life as it should be. And we certainly found this 
high-placed little village a most restful and quiet 
little spot. Out in the fields — oh, but they w^ere 
like those in " Sussex by the sea " I — the men and 
women of Berdorf find their work, and during most 
of the day the little place is deserted save for the 
children looking after children not much smaller. 

The second thing of interest in Berdorf is the 
parish church. Not that it is old or that in itself 
it is interesting, for not only is it plain but it is 
comparatively new and almost wholly unadorned. 



But it has one treasure. It is the altar of the four 
deities, a splendidly preserved piece of Roman work, 
the stone for which an old village worthy, who 
showed us the altar enclosed in a wooden covering, 
told us was taken from the Hollow Rock. The four 
deities are Hercules, Apollo, Juno and Minerva. 
Each has one side of the altar. Hercules is in front, 
with club and lion-skin ; at the rear is Juno, hold- 
ing shell and sceptre. Apollo, with lyre, bow and 
quiver, is on the left, and on the opposite side is 
armed Minerva. The altar is about 4 feet high 
and each relief about 3 feet square. It is one of 
the finest Roman relics I saw in Luxembourg. 

Where the altar of the four deities was found I 
was unable to discover. But within comparatively 
recent years it seems to have changed its abode 
several times. I could trace its wanderings no 
farther back than to a little church, now gone, near 
Miillerthal village, an edifice said to have been one 
of St. Willibrord's numerous churches. It came to 
Berdorf before the parish church was built, and 
served as altar in the old building in which the 
people worshipped. The parish church was erected 
about eighty-five years ago, and in it the altar was 
placed. In the old church, so our worthy told us, 
there were many very ancient relics, but he had no 
idea vrafere they were now. Probably they are 
classified, catalogued and numbered in more than 
one museiAi and it i^^satisfactory that at least one 
has not haBTTo submit tjj^that fate, 'ftie altar of the 
four deities is regarded by the Berdorr^eople with 
something akin to awe ; they hold it in great rever- 


ence, and that is probably what has saved it for 
them and their little church. 

It was hard to leave quiet little Berdorf, and 
indeed the sun was well on its afternoon journey 
before we parted from Student Number Two, went 
across the fields beyond Berdorf, and took a twists 
ing way through the woods and towards the Sure. 
We reached the little narrow and quiet valley where 
the Roitzbach has its rise and into which a shower 
of stupendous rocks has been thrown. Then, dis- 
regarding the sign-post which tells us that Hohl, or 
Hell, is reached by the path to the left — I reserved 
that path for to-morrow — We went to the right into 
a little region of delightful beauty. On one side 
rise stern-faced and pointed rocks, which sea-waves 
only could have carved ; on the left the land, beauti- 
fully wooded, slopes away gently to the last miles of 
the Erenz Noire. The Berdorf-Grundhof main road 
cuts across our path, having forced a way through 
the rocky barrier along which is our track. Cross- 
ing it we soon reach the ravine which the Wanterbach 
has cut to find the Erenz Noire. 

This is a wild little corner, and for more than 
an hour we stayed marvelling at the extraordinary 
variety of shape which the huge rocks display, and 
wandered about til^we found a resting-plgre for 
another hour, at the spot where the Wartterbach 
throws itself over a rocky precipice and forms one of 
the most remarkable cascades|i have ever^en. Its- 
white spray wras exquisitely ^imbroidered with rain- 
bow-ribbons and sun sequins, while light and shade 
wove lovely lace upon its disarray. 


And another marvel is not far away. It is the 
Sept Gorges, variously described locally as Sieben- 
schliifif, Sievenschliiff or Sieweschliiff. Imagine a 
huge rock, say like that upon which Stirling Castle 
stands, thrown high in the air and then scattering 
in great fragments on falling earth again. Only 
in that way, one thinks, could the Sept Georges have 
come into existence. Seven of the separating gorges 
are large enough to permit people to walk through 
them — narrow " couloirs " communicating with one 
another, walled high on either side. Then there 
comes a stairway, cut roughly out of the rock, by 
which the top is reached, to show the climber the 
valleys of Erenz Noire and Sure at his feet. 

Leaving Sept Gorges, the path picks its way among 
giant rocks along the edge of the Berdorf plateau, 
which at this point pushes itself out into the angle 
formed by the junction of Erenz Noire and Sure. 
The track gradually rises until the imposing group 
of rocks called Kasselt is reached. On its high 
summit the red, white and blue of Luxembourg 
floated lazily in the evening^ breeze, and we climbed 
to the platform on which the flagstaff has been 
erected. No words can adequately describe the 
delightful view to be seen from here — a " memory 
of show and scent." Silvery Sure advances twist- 
ing in front, turns to gold as it flows past, and then 
disappears in a proud and gracious sweep away to 
the right. Beaufort lies in the distance to the left, 
and far away the Our valley is visible, threaded by 
its lovely stream ; below lies Grundhof, from which 
the noise of the whistle and snorting of engines 



ascends — the only sounds that cleave the summer 
evening silence. Behind, forests sweep across the 
plateau to a distant horizon upon which the simset 
hangs out its blazing banner. It is a gorgeous 
evening spectacle. 

We descended quickly to Grundhof, and, as we 
had been ten hours on the way, sought the inn and 
ordered dinner. Grundhof lies at the end of the 
valley of the Erenz Noire. Where the engines of 
this busy little junction steam and smoke the once 
riotous river slips gently into the Sure. The little 
village has no history ; road, river and railway come 
to it in triple file from both sides. Its importance 
is largely industrial, for it has a railway bringing 
down to it the produce of the g'reat quarries of 
Dillingen and Reisdorf ; the wanderer knows it as 
standing at the entrance to one of the most glorious 
of Ruritania's valleys — that of the Erenz Noire — 
which rises in the Grunenwald, that beautiful forest 
spreading itself on the outskirts of the Duchy's 

" There's a fine road up the valley," said Madame 
of the inn, and we set off, adieux said to three 
delightful little children, whose grief it was that 
the automatic machine on the veranda had been 
emptied by them overnight with our pennies, despite 
the warning that it was always well to leave some- 
thing for the morning. 

" We'll have to return by this road," remarked 
the student. " That's a nuisance, isn't it? " he added, 
true wanderer that he was. 

" Well, then, what about that path we passed 


yesterday leading to Hohl? It's almost certain to 
lead parallel to this." 

We spread out our map, which did not show 
Hohl, but a farmer's boy at a farm near by told us 
that if we struggled up the tiny river which was 
rippling into the Erenz Noire not far away we should 
come to the spot which we desired to reach, and 
the path would lead us to Miillerthal village. So 
we crossed the river by the bridge at the farm and 
followed the path until we came upon the tributary, 
the Roitzbach, along whose scanty and placid waters 
we went. It was comparatively easy going, though 
at times steep, and breath-taking detours were 
necessary. We were not long, however, in striking 
the spot where on the previous day we had turned 
to the right, where Roitzbach cuts a valley into the 
plateau towards Berdorf. 

Here we met two German Pfafifen, who, having 
come from Hohl, had lost their bearings. We put 
them on the unorthodox way for their destination — 

" You are doing this journey in the proper 
direction," said one. " Hohl, then the Eisgrotte. 
We did the Eisgrotte first, which is a mistake." We 
showed correct appreciation of the somewhat heavy 
Germanic humour. 

Hohl was not far away. Rocks and flowers dispute 
for first place in one's memory along the twisting 
path, and then suddenly you come across a dark- 
some cavity in the rock. It is Hell. Some one had 
most obligingly left at the entrance a piece of candle 
attached to a stick. Lighting it, we descended into 


the deeps. For nearly two hundred feet the dark 
passage leads gently downward into the rock's heart. 
At times one has to stoop to get along ; at others 
the vault of the roof is many yards above. All 
the way the passage is narrow ; there is just enough 
room for two people to pass each other. It is said 
that this is a natural cavern, that no blasting has 
been resorted to in order to make or extend it, and 
I think appearances bear out the statement. It is 
one of the most eerie spots of this rock-reg*ion — one 
of the most curious of all its wonders. Equally 
marvellous, though of a different description, is the 
Schnellert, about half an hour farther on. To reach 
it the path first ascends by a long stairway and 
then falls again, leading to a mass of rock similar to 
the Sept Gorges. The huge rocks are thrown about 
in the most extraordinary confusion, some of them 
rising to enormous heights and shutting out the sun- 
light ; narrow ways run everywhere, in some of which 
the hand of man is evident in the making. But he 
has done nothing in vandal style ; all he has done 
is to make it but a little easier to wander about in 
this awe-inspiring chaos of cliffs. 

Groups of rocks follow one another in quick suc- 
cession. Next comes the Binzeltschliiff. Here the 
pathway has been driven by man, but in extremely 
clever and artistic fashion. Steep, narrow, twilight- 
shrouded ruelles make one fancy that here is a 
corner of earth struck with barrenness, so grim are 
the bare rocks among which the way twists. Then 
suddenly you come upon a fine piece of road-making'. 
Right throug'h the stupendous cliffs a splendid main 


road has been cut, leading from Berdorf to the 
Miillerthal road. Crossing this road one dives again 
into the dim, hidden, steep pathways and deep gorges. 
Surely some of the caverns to be seen must have 
sheltered the ancient Celt. Sometimes, at any rate, 
there are found here axe and arrow heads such as he 
used. The Wehrschrumschliiff follows soon, another 
rock -labyrinth distinguished by a gigantic verdure- 
covered peak which rises high above the others and 
the topmost branches of the trees as well. Then 
for a time the going is more gentle by a chanm'ing 
woodland path, until, about twenty minutes later, a 
way leads off on the left. It is to the Eisgrotte, 
the Cavern of Ice. The place well deserves its 
name ; so deep and narrow are its gorges, overhung 
with close foliage, that they are cool as deep cellars. 

By this time it was approaching midday, and the 
German was thinking very seriously of lunch. 

" We don't want to hurry on to Miillerthal village," 
he said ; " that should be done leisurely. What 
about Consdorf ? Look " — and he pointed to his well- 
thumbed map — " there a road loses itself in that 
farm not far off. Let's try and find it." 

We pushed on, then, beyond the Eisgrotte, and 
soon came out upon a field across which was the 
farm — called Dostert, by the way. We found the 
road, the farm people confirming the directions of 
the map by saying; that it led directly to Consdorf. 
Over the Dosterbach we went, past another farm, 
and then through a wood from the southern side of 
which Consdorf was not far distant. At the Hotel 
Mersch Madame attended to us in true Luxembourg 


style, and when the heat of the day had passed 
we left the village to seek the only two remaining 
clusters of rocks which we had left unexplored. 

At the southern extremity of the village an obliging 
rustic went out of his way to guide us to the proper 
path, and in little more than half an hour we reached 
the valley of the Hertbour, on the left wall of which 
a path leads first to the Kohlscheuer and then, a few 
minutes later, to the Dewepetz. 

In spite of all that we had seen in Post-Impres- 
sionist rock-effects, the Kohlscheuer surprised us. 
A winding way and at times a rustic stair lead to it, 
an enormous heap of gigantic rocks, regarded by 
many as the most extraordinary of the whole region. 
It is difficult to leave this curious stony maze, this 
remarkable confusion, with its narrow clefts, deep 
and hig'hly walled. The visitor will spend at least 
an hour here ; he carmot help himself, so curious 
is the place. 

Little sweeping curves lead to the Dewepetz — the 
name means " the deep wells." This curiosity con- 
sists of two narrow galleries through a massive rock, 
from one of which another " couloir " runs. We 
followed our track on leaving it for about half an 
hour, turning gradually round towards the Erenz 
Noire, the valley of the Hertbour widening consider- 
ably as it approached the Miillerthal. 

" Can there be," asked my companion, " anything 
to equal or excel what we have already seen? " He 
was anxious to cut down to the main road — 
Echternach-Miillerthal — and to reach the delightful 
valley as soon as possible. He allowed himself to 


be persuaded, however, that the good wine might 
possibly be kept to the last, and that it was not wise 
to skip the final chapter of the book of chaos. 

So we reached the Goldfralay, the name akin in 
meaning to Lorelei — the Rock of the Golden Lady. 
If it lacks the greatness and grandeur of the Rhine: 
rock, it has an impressiveness of its own. It towers 
more than a hundred feet high, and passages split 
it into four. The legend attached to it is similar 
to that connected with the Lorelei. 

You enter by a huge natural portal, and the cleft 
gradually gets narrower and narrower, until, as one 
goes along, sleeves rub upon the rock-walls on either 
side. Up and up the passage goes, at places the 
way being improved by rough steps, until the top 
of the giant rock is reached. It is a fairly extensive 
platform, covered with beautiful mosses and shrubs. 
Here beautiful purple heather grows and flowers of 
many kinds, including the blue-bells of — Luxem- 
bourg. Squirrels come up by way of the trees and 
play about in frisky and friendly manner, often 
coming near to inspect the person who has dis- 
covered their high-pitched forest home. And what 
a glorious view there is from here, lifted high above 
the topmost leaves of a great forest ! Deep down 
in the valley the Biresbach lies hidden in its trees ; 
Consdorf stands high on the opposite plateau. And 
in autumn that great extent of undulating woodlan'd 
is beautiful beyond all description ; the first leaves 
are falling, and the foliage is of every tint from 
freshest green to gold and from gold to deepest 
brown — a marvellous mosaic. A mill squatting in 


the valley, the high church tower at Consdorf, the 
dim outline of the houses of the village — these alone 
break but slightly the ocean of trees spreading as 
far as the eye can reach. And, like a ring of 
darkened colour on a sunlit sea, you can trace, 
very faintly, that semicircle of rocks which we have 
explored, a rampart facing the Sure, but a rampart 
over which peace has spread its mantle. 

Down again reluctantly we went. A few minutes 
later we passed the Goldkaul, the " trench of gold," 
so called, I should think, because of the yellowish 
tint of the rock and because sulphuret of copper used 
to be extracted here. Then comes the last fort of 
the rampart wall. 

It is the Eulenburg, the Castle of the Owls. And 
it is appropriately named. The dusk had come 
down when we reached it, and already the eerie, 
mournful calls of the shy lords of this castle couJd 
be heard. If you would see the landscape bathed 
in twilight, climb to the top of the largest rook. 
From it you can look right down the Miillerthal to 
Grundhof ; on the left Beaufort stands on its emi- 
nence, and all around the darkening forest with its 
glades. Through fissures we scrambled in the gloom 
till we got clear of the awesome rocks. The extreme 
narrowness of the passages and their extraordinary 
length is what makes the Owls' Castle different from' 
all the other forts of the long rampart of rock, the 
end of which we have now reached. 

We went through the woods, a short cut, and 
saw an hotel sign which marked the end of our long 
forest ramble. 


The Miillerthal — the Millers' Dale ! What 
memories of peace, of scenic charm, of joyful riot 
of waters, of chaos of rock, of beauty of flower 
and tree the name recalls to him who has sought 
the Schiessentiimpel from placid Grundhof ! Coming 
up the fertile and luxuriant valley, the wanderer 
passes from Nature's peace to her passion and back 
again ; it is as though one came and went from 
before the pictures of an East or Waterlow to the 
challenging canvases of an Impressionist. And Erenz 
Noire I Fair the river is, and black only when rocks 
throw their great gloom upon her clear waters. 
But black goes well with some colours. She is a 
white danseuse who for some of her fairy frolics 
chooses a black background, and will have 
Wagnerian, nay, Straussian music to foot it to. 
Into parts of the valley the world-maker has thrown 
all that there is of the bizarre and the beautiful — 
tower and cavern, rampart and pillar ; he exhausts 
shape and form and effect ; he touches the utmost 
limit of chisel-work and hammer -labour. Since 
the beginning water — rain and river — has laboured, 
and endlessly it still labours, carving this wondrous 

Up, high up, on the valley sides wind and rain 
are still the architects of this stupendous art. Little 
by little, slowly, they complete little fragments of it 
and hurl them downward to the stream for the waters 
to play with and to work more harmoniously into the 
Dantesque scheme of things. How well the stream 
does its work I It makes stepping-stones, pool- 
guards, trout-shelters of them- ; it covers them with 


ever-living moss, a roothold for fern and flower, 
throws a cascade of its fair waters over them, or 
rings them round with river-plants which have their 
root in its bed. And hazel and pine make of its 
home an arbour, mint the sunshine for it to spend 
in the gloom, and deliver the rain g'ently to it. Erenz 
Noire has made the valley fruitful. Men have built 
mills by its side and by that of its dozen tributaries 
from Miillerthal village to Grundhof. With strength 
of these waters " Ferme " and " Miihle " have 

A little above the village is to be seen its master- 
piece — the Schiessentiimpel, or Schiesztiimpel, or a 
score of other spellings. Several great rocks have 
sought to bar the waters' way, but the stream has 
forced itself between them, and now we see one of 
the most charming little cascades one could wish to 
behold, several thick threads of white falling into 
a silvery pool giving the alert trout a good run before 
their jump to that above. The surroundings are 
most charming. An old bridge spans the cascade, 
its stones artistically carved to look like logs of 
wood ; paths lead up and down stream in the 
encircling woodland. 

Of such is the Millers' Dale — alternate peace and 
war. But it is ever beautiful. 

Turn your back on Miillerthal and you are back 
in the land of castles and romance. The Kasselbach 
runs into the Erenz Noire just at the entrance to 
the village as the wanderer comes up the valley. 
This is a riotous stream which has cut a picturesque 
valley for itself out of the green plateau edg'ed with 


the silver of Erenz and Hallerbach. On the hilly 
spur which drives a wedge into the corner of Erenz 
Noire and Kasselbach stands, visible from afar, the 
strange and eerie ruin of Heringerburg. The ruin 
is almost at its last stage of form, a grim heap of 
stones which have yielded to what must have been 
a long assault of Nature's fury upon this verdant 
height. From the disorder — one wall still stands — 
you can gather but little to tell you what this strong- 
hold was like in the days of old, but, having power- 
ful neighbours, no doubt here dwelt a seigneur of 

And, I think, it must be the oldest of all castle 
ruins, for you do not go to the written pages of 
history to learn Heringerburg. The pages of 
romance are what you must turn ; you must listen 
to tradition's tale. Tenth century is the date gener- 
ally associated with its building, and its builders 
are said to have been the Heringer, an unruly tribe 
of Saxons transplanted here by Charlemagne.' They 
built their fortress where a Roman castle had stood, 
and they bred a fierce race of warriors. Many are 
the tales people will tell you of the place. L^t one. 
sufifice . 

I walked out in the dusk one night to the ruins 
from Miillerthal with a young man of the village 
for company. The owls were particularly noisy. 

" Griselinda's voice I " remarked my companion. 
" Do you hear it? " 

" What? The noise of the owls? " 

" Yes." 

' See p. 26 . 


" And thereby hangs a tale, doubtless " — and there 

If Heringerburg was famous for its fierce warriors, 
no less renowned was it for its fair ladies, and of 
the castle's " Dream of Fair Women " the most 
beautiful was Griselinda. She was known far and 
wide for the exquisite beauty of her voice, clear as 
the nightingale. There were evidently musical critics 
in those days, but Griselinda was protected against 
them by a power which, doubtless, more than one 
singer since would have given much to possess. Did 
any one venture to deny her supremacy in vocal art, 
that person was immediately turned toi stone. To 
live, every one had to pay homage to her gift of 
song. " And these rocks," said my companion, " are 
the overbold critics," whose daring has certainly 
given them a stability not shared by the dust of those 
who heard and admired. As the evening shadows 
lengthened, the fair Griselmda would stand by her 
window — was it that which can still be seen in the 
single wall that remains standing? She had a habit 
which even to-day singers suburban have not cured 
themselves of. She sang at an open window ; all 
the vale heard the glorious liquid notes ; she — 

Her music heard below. 

And of admirers she had indeed a goodly tally. 
There were some whose admiration just saved them 
from petrifaction, and from that point there was a 
crescendo of adoration which reached its highest in 
the heart of the young and handsome lord of Folken- 


dange, who doubtless was seigneur of a neighbouring 
castle, though exactly where it stood I know not. 

One evening the fair songstress was in more than 
usually good voice, and the music had such an effect 
that the young nobleman could no longer resist the 
temptation to tell the beautiful one of his love. 
Evidently the lord of Heringerburg was at home, 
for the young lover did not dare to go to the 
castle by way of the main entrance. He set out to 
climb the rock straight up to the window of this 
local Lorelei. He had almost succeeded in his effort, 
when he became so greatly entranced by a part of 
Griselinda's song that he forgot to hold on. Down 
he fell to the foot of the rock, more thap a hunldrajd 
yards below. 

Griselinda rushed from the castle height — by the 
proper way, wisely I — and found the young lord of 
Folkendange dead. Then she sang her last song, 
the most plaintive of all her melodies. Some months 
afterwards she died, but still her notes are heard 
in the woodbine, and you can say that those of the 
owl are hers without great danger of being turned 
to stone. 

A little below Vogelsmiihle the Hallerbach runs 
into the Erenz Noire, and by a path a few hundred 
yards farther on we turn aside to explore this 
beautiful little vale. No other that I have seen is so 
rich in flower and fern — flowers of all the hues from 
pale blue to deepest scarlet, ferns of all kinds to 
the fairest and gentlest maidenhair that ever grew. 
And what glorious tapestry the varicoloured mosses 
have woven underfoot and on the rocks which do 


not trouble the clear, easy-going stream I Then, 
after a wander of — well, it may be one mile, it may 
be twenty, the Nature lover will have no idea, nor 
wish to have, of the length of the Hallerbach from 
the Miillerthal to where he leaves it at the point where 
Taupeschbach (or Hubertusbach) relieves the Haller- 
bach as guide to Beaufort. As for the Hallerbach 
itself, it attempts no startling effects. At times it 
enjoys a cascade, but mostly it dallies in pools across 
which the trout flash like arrows from the bow. 
Here and there it will spread its scant waters out 
so as to make little islands. 

Where the two streams join, the picture is one of 
the most exquisite beauty. On the left a huge rocky, 
keep stands gu,ard ; on the right the valley wall falls 
sharply. Right up to the point where you leave the 
woodland and see Beaufort castle, the entrancing 
charm of the vale is preserved. Here, you cannot 
help thinking, is a path which will make the wanderer 
disregard one of the first rules of wandering and 
return by the same way. 

The valley leads you to the southern side of 
Beaufort village, just to the spot where stands 
another castle of renown. It is a magnificent coup 
d'ceil which greets one on emerging from the woods. 
Right in front, barring the valley, stands a gigantic 
ruin, the old castle towering proudly on high, well 
preserved, still keeping the nobility and the elegance 
which the Renaissance gave it. The slender towers, 
the long, muUioned windows, give it a grace few 
other old castles in the Grand Duchy possess. Beside 
it stands the new castle, of the seventeenth century, 



a charming construction flanked by, a square tower 
roofed with slates, and with a great court faced by 
arcade-like buildings. 

It is not possible to put an exact date to the old 
castle, but very old it is. The lords of Beaufort, or 
Befort, as it was then, were a branch of the tree of 
the iWiltz nobility. As early as 1236 they were busy 
in Luxembourg history, and a Befort seigneur 
appended his signature to the famous " charte 
d'affranchissement " which Ermesinde awarded the 
bourgeoisie of Echternach. 

In 1593 the Lord of Beaufort, Gaspard de Heu, 
placed his sword and strength at the disposal of 
the Orange party, and Philip il, an Alva of an 
earlier age, wrought vengeance on that castle, as 
well as on Vianden, for the temerity of its overlord. 
And the overlord he promptly beheaded. Philip 
made a gift of the castle to his favourite, Mansfeld. 
Fifty years after, Beaufort became associated with 
one of the most romantic of Luxembourg's heroes — 
Jean Beck. Beck began life as a herd-boy, and rose 
to the position eventually of Governor of Luxem- 
bourg. He became a soldier of fortune in the 
Austrian army, and his discovery of a conspiracy 
against the ruling house not only put his feet upon 
the ladder of advancement but sent him up its steps 
at a. pace which mig'ht have turned any one's head. 
In his soldier's knapsack he found a field -n^a-rshal's 
baton. He is chiefly remembered in the Grand 
Duchy for his exploits in the Thirty Years War, 
deeds which make him one of Luxembourg's darling 


A curious and interesting story is told of him as 
showing how his suddenly acquired fame did not 
make him proud. When yet a poor young fellow he 
married a slattern market girl whose way com- 
pelled him to part from her. Yet when, as Governor, 
he entered Luxembourg in pomp, he had not for- 
gotten her ; he had searched her out, and by his 
side she shared the homage and honour paid to him 
by the city. 

With place came naturally riches, and he was able 
to acquire the castle of Beaufort for the sum of 
60,000 florins. He used it as barracks, and he it 
was who erected the new castle. Beck died at Arras 
in 1648, refusing to allow any one to bind the wounds 
which he received at the battle of Lens. After his 
death the old castle was abandoned and fell gradu- 
ally into ruins. In 181 7 the Count de Liedekerke- 
Beaufort acquired it, and hastened the process of 
ruin by taking some of the materials to erect a mill, 
and he offered no objection to the villagers helping' 
themselves to material for repairing cottages and 
doing other mason's work. In that way the prin- 
cipal tower disappeared. In time, however, that 
vandalism was happily put a stop to. The modern 
castle belongs to M. Linckels, who uses part of the 
old edifice as a " fabrique de conserves " which pro- 
duces a " Kirschwasser " esteemed above that of 
the Black Forest, and greatly appreciated by artists 
who piake of Beaufort another Pont Aven. 

And Beaufort is certainly an artistic little place. 
Its houses are old and not always perpendicular ; 
some of the streets are flights of stairs, and there 


is at least one good, very good, inn, whose host is 
the worthy M. Bleser. 

From pretty little Beaufort a aialle-post runs to 
Reisdorf, through pretty country, twice a day ; but 
before we leave the Miillerthal region let me quote 
this description of it from the pen of Goerres, disciple 
of Schelling, as given by M. Jean d'Ardenne from 
the Reinische Merkur : — 

" La contr^e est d'une beauts particuli^re et com- 
parable k I'antique sdjour des grants. Des rocs 
d^nudds, ^mergeant du sol et des for^ts qui ont 
grandi autour d'eux, font des couronnepients aux 
crates des deux rives, dont ils suivent toutes les 
sinuosit^s. Leurs formes aux aretes vives, leurs 
assises colossales, leur donnent I'aspect de r^elles 
forteresses titaniques, dont les murs et lefe tours se 
seraient enfouis peu k peu sous le sol, ne montrant 
plus que leurs amortissements cr^nel^s entre les fron- 
daisons de la for^t vierge. Et il semble que les 
h6tes de ces chateaux gigantesques, Isolds chacun 
sur sa cime, se soient livrds entre eux, en un jour 
de colore fol, un combat acharnd. Du haut en bas 
des versant et jusque dans le lit de la riviere, des 
blocs dnormes se rencontrent, comme si on les avait 
lancds et roulds, et ils donnent vraiment I'image 
exact du combat des Titans. Dans le Miillerthal, 
surtout, Taction parait avoir €t€ txhs vive. Mais 
tant d'anndes ont passd Ik-dessus que la nature a 
repris tous ses droits, revetant les rochers de mousse 
et de lierre et faisant surgir de leurs crevasses des 
arbres aux puissantes ramures." 

With that short description, an interlude from a 


pen usually dipped in gall for political propaganda, 
we leave the Millers' Dale with many a delightful 
memory and the hope that one day we may tread 
again its lovely ways. 


Voices out of the shade that cried, 
And long noon in the hot calm places, 
And children's play by the wayside, 
And country eyes, and quiet faces — 
All these were round my steady paces. 

Rupert Brooke. 



The ways by which the wanderer may leave Ech- 
ternach appear to be inexhaustible. They all lead 
into the woodlands which encircle the town from river 
to river, but that which leads up into the Forest of 
Hardt is one of the most charming. The Forest of 
Hardt is by far the most extensive of the forests 
on the right bank of the Sure, and there is a pathway 
leading right through the deeps of its green heart. 
So by that way we shall start our cross-country 

The road to take is that which branches off to ttire 
left just opposite the Hotel Bellevue. It is a pleasant, 
rural Unter den Linden leading along the Kappellen- 
bach. Straight ahead it goes for nearly a mile, 
and then, at the outskirts of the forest, river and 
road part company, and a steep path tempts the 
wanderer into the woodland shade. For about an 
hour and a half you have a forest footpath all to 
yourself. There is no mistaking it. Moss-grown 
boulders, the loveliest of ferns, flowers in plenty, 
the bluebells and heather of this southern Scotland, 
a ribbon of a pathway " alluring up and enticing 
down " — all these go to make the mise-en-sc^ne. 


Far too soon the farmyard sounds of Michelshof will 
tell that the end of that part of the journey is 

At Michelshof five roads meet, or, counting the 
Hardt pathway, six. To the right, about a mile 
and a half away over fields and woods, lies 
Scheidgen ; but there is a roundabout way, for those 
who have time, which is much more interesting than 
the direct route. About half-way, farmlands give 
way to the woods which clothe the Rosswinkel height. 
Then on the right a pathway cuts up into the forest, 
and soon the invader will hear the music of two 
streams which rise on the wooded slope and join 
together to sport down the rocky gallery called 
Ponteschgrund. Not all the explorations recorded 
in the last chapter have exhausted the toll of the 
attractions of this picturesque borderland, and the 
narrow way of the Ponteschgrund, hemmed in by 
trees, decked by Flora, cut by a singing rivulet and 
with rocks thrown about in most fascinating dis- 
order, is one of the longest in the district. It takes 
a good half-hour to pass through this gorlge where 
the gods rioted. At the end is Scheidgen once more 
— a village loosely scattered along the Echternach- 
Consdorf road and that from' Michelshof. Scheidgen's 
railway station stands some little way distant, as 
is often the case with station and village in thils 
part of the country. And the name given to the 
stopping-places varies curiously. Echternach, of 
course, has a full-blown " gare " ; Consdorf lays 
claim to a " station " ; while the inhabitant of 
Scheidgen, wishing to travel, goes to the " halte." 


■'■■' .■ ■/■; 


■^*^. V -^^ ■ 




' "^ .' - -i 


fe^.^- j^'JSEM^bM 



■ ^-l 


iWe have now reached the deUghtful " route de 
Consdorf," and along it the village of the nalrie is 
quickly reached. It is a most straggling place, 
spreading from the railway station for about a mile 
along a maze of intersecting roads. Usually for 
visitors to the Miillerthal region it is the centre, and 
that is just why I have led you through the Httle 
Switzerland of Luxembourg without visiting the 
village. It will be seen at a glance that Consdorf 
looks for a good few people to come its way. At 
least I counted no fewer than ten inns and cafes.. 
Nine seem to have exhausted all the names the 
dear, simple villagers could think of, and with the 
tenth they had to start using them over again. An 
obliging wayfarer had recommended the " Nuss- 
baum " to me as a place of refreshment, and when, 
in the village, I inquired where it was, I was asked 
which of the two " Nut Trees " I particularly 
desired ! More years ago than I care to count 
I first became acquainted with Consdorf, and it is 
curious, after a space of time, to visit such little 
lost villages again and to note the complete absence 
of the spirit of change. Custom' holds progress at 
bay ; everything is tried by the low standard of 
use ; things that will do need not be altered — that 
is the village philosophy of life. 

The road from! Consdorf to the south is a good 
one and pleasant — the same route which, coming 
from Berdorf, manages to extricate itself in good 
order from the confusion of Consdorf, and which 
leads, by field and forest, to Alttrier. But there is 
a more interesting way to reach that castra hiberna 


of the Romans. About five hundred yards down 
the hill from the station a sign-post indicates the 
presence of a pathway, and that will be found to 
lead along the Consdorferbach valley ; and, seeing 
that the little stream' rises but a short distance from 
Alttrier, it as well as the road may be taken as 
guide. In my opinion a river is always preferable to 
a road. A road is a happy enough companion, 
being generally without history, but a river is history 
from the beginning. A road is often an intruder 
in a scene ; but the river was there before man 
began to make history, and without it there would 
be no history and no scenery. So up the Consdorfer- 
bach we shall go — a delightfully attractive wander — 
until we reach the little village of Hersberg, where: 
the bach is born. And Alttrier is not far away. 

It may be well for the wanderer to know that 
Alttrier is not recognized locally — at least, so I found. 
The place is called Shanz — simplicity again, for that, 
being interpreted, is " intrenchment " or " bulwark." 
And that is what the Romans made of Alttrier 's 
height, a fine spacious plateau to which the glints 
of Echternach's spires come across the intervening 
seas of green. Alttrier was the right of the line of 
important camps which the Romans made facing 
the forests they had reason to fear. Until a date 
within memory no one worried to penetrate the 
covering Time and the elements had thrown over the 
place upon which the camp stood, but when the 
exploring spade set to work numerous coins, vases, 
jewels and inscriptions were unearthed, the latter 
telling sufficient to give ground for the belief that 


the camp was laid out in the reign of the Emperor 
Arcadius. When road-making" here in 1844 an altar 
to Jupiter was unearthed. It is of red sandstone, and 
has the inscription : " Deo optimo maximo ara 
dedicata." ' This treasure is to be seen in the 
museum at Luxembourg. 

Rome has left much to tell her story in this part 
of the Grand Duchy. And here the worst of it is 
that there is no proper road, and that no guide-book, 
sign-post or native can tell you the way from Alttrier 
to Christnach. And that was undoubtedly the reason 
why I chose Christnach as my next stopping-place. 
But if you have the bump of locality and direction, 
then set off north-west, roughly, by any path you 
chance to find leading from the north side of the 
Alttrier road. And let wanderers be warned ; let 
them be up with the sun to take the road. Through 
woods, across fields, past, here and there, tiny villages 
surrounded by fruit-trees, about four kilometres will 
bring the tramp to the valley of the Black Erenz, 
probably, if he keeps well to the north, via Breit- 
weiler. A Roman road used to lead from this village 
to Medernach, north of Fels, and many Roman relics 
have been found. The bridge near by across the 
river marks the southern end of the Miillerthal, and 
upstream for four or five miles stretches a vale 
worthy indeed of its name — Blumenthal. Of that, 
however, I shall have something to say later. But 
before leaving Breitweiler the St. Hubert Chapel 
should be visited. It stands where stood a little 

' "The altar is consecrated to the god supreme" — Jupiter, 
under his title "Optimus Maximus." 


temple built when the Romans were in the neigh- 
bourhood, and much of the old material was used 
to build the modern edifice. The most interesting 
part of what has survived is the altar, among the 
carvings of which is a figure of the cruel goddess 
Mania. Across the bridge, and on the way to 
Christnach, there appears on the right of the route 
to Wolfsberg, or Wolfsfelt, a gentle slope, upon 
which stand the ruins of a temple of old. It musit 
date from about the same period as that of St. 
Quirinus, beside the Petrusse in Luxembourg ; and, 
indeed, second-century coins have been found beside 
it. An arched and columned porch leads into what 
was the interior of the temple, and part of it was 
cut out of the solid rock. Many people, and the 
inscription as well, suggest that the building was 
a villa and not a temple, but I think it is much 
more likely to have been a place of worship. It 
was used for four centuries before the overthrow 
of Rome. And its builders " builded better than 
they knew," for, as the inscription says, nearly seven- 
teen centuries leave a very considerable portion of 
it standing. Of course, there is the usual inscription. 
It is a curious thing that when the Luxembourger 
puts up a plaque he cannot resist composing a puzzle 
for it. That on the Hollay rock is an example, 
and here is another. The inscription is in German, 
in small and large capitals, and if the large letters 
are added together as Roman numerals the date of 
the setting up of the inscription will be discovered., 
Seeing, however, that the letters make this array — 



most people, however strong in mental arithmetic, 
will at once take my word for it that the carved stone 
received its inscription in the year 1863. And I took 
some one else's word for it ! 

Many of the Roman relics have been gathered 
together at a mill near by — Olsmiihle, or, if you 
need to inquire for it from a native, Oligsmiihle. 

It was the birthplace of the Abb6 Engling, who, 
with his brother, took great interest in the discovery 
and collection of relics of Roman times. It was the 
brother who discovered the Wolfsberg remains in 
1844. The mill is a curious place. The art of the 
Roman decks it ; sculptured stones, heads, coins and 
all kinds of relics are there ; and in the adjoining 
garden what could not be housed are set out in 
picturesque array with many kinds of flowers around. 
I had a long chat with the jolly miller, and one thing 
surprised me. I shall put it in this form : I hope 
no American will ever go that way, because I am 
sure he would obtain many interesting relics for 
little trouble and at less cost. I did not buy, though 
I might, I believe, have done so ; for I had no desire 
to be counted, even though the counting might be 
secret, among those who helped to despoil the work 
of the good Ahh6 Engling or to rob Luxembourg of 
the smallest of her relics. 

Christnach, another of those wide-straggling, cross- 
road villages so common in the Grand Duchy, is a 
sign of Rome and of the Cross. Rome built it ; 
the Cross changed it, faith and name. It was origin- 
ally Crucenacum, and, centuries after, Crucenach for 
short. Here was a temple to Diana, upon the stones 


of which the church of to-day rests, though more 
than one edifice has stood there since the pagan 
fane of old fell to ruins. And so it is with a sur- 
prisingly large number of the houses of the village. 
In their walls still remain the stones which Roman 
hands cut and carved. Yet a sad enough little place 
it is — poor, and picturesque only in patches, though 
with a delightful background of hill and beech 
forests. Fels is only three miles away as the crow 
flies, but farther away by our route, so as the 
wanderer has come far, and must spend the next 
day at Fels, let him wend his way to the Hotel Koch, 
where fare is simple, accommodation happily clean 
if limited, and people talkative when twilight descends 
and drives them indoors to the light and company of 
the inn parlour. 

And how did Crucenach become Christnach? It 
was not by any mutilation of name, near though the 
two be to each other in sound and appearance. 
For the change is a landmark in local history, dating 
from some period only vaguely determined as being 
six hundred and something, probably very nearly 
seven hundred, when from Trier and Echternach the 
Church was spreading its warriors of the Word 
abroad through the lands. Up those beautiful vales 
of the Black Erenz came the gospel-bearers, prose- 
cuting their mission amid constant dangers and 
difficulties among the people who had ousted Rome 
and who worshipped the gods of Gaul. Lord of 
a great extent of country was Rodoric, or Rodoricus, 
whose writ ran far around from his fastness on the 
Rock of Fels. Three miles through the forest lived 


a noble Germanic family, one of whom was Schwan- 
hilde, who had been converted to Christianity by 
the missionaries from Trier. Rodoric loved her, 
but she would have nothing to do with him till he 
forsook his gods of stone and wood and pagan 
imagination. It followed as a natural result that the 
determined maiden was cast into prison. Every day 
for a year the pagan lord of Fels came to her 
dungeon to offer her freedom and his hand if she 
would abandon this new, strange faith. But no ; she 
would only yield if he would overthrow the Temple 
to Diana, slaughter with the axe the trees of the 
dark, forbidding grove around it, and, unhid upon 
the height, rear a temple to he'r God.^ One day 
Rodoric found the dungeon empty and his captive 
gone. The haughty chief swore that his gods had 
dealt ill with him and that the God of Schwanhilde 
had beaten them. So it was with crumbling faith, dis- 
consolately rather than with anger, that he searched 
for the missing fair one, and as the old gods had 
not helped him to success he was all the more 
willing to listen to the gospel of the Trierian monks. 
In the end Rodoric bowed to the Cross, and swore 
he would do as Schwanhilde had required of him. 
And the maiden had not fled far away. In a cave 
within sight of the castle she had waited and watched 
and prayed. The monks brought her word of the 
conversion of the lord of Fels, and she went forth 
to meet him. Before the axe of his retainers Diana's 
grove fell ; the temple was overthrown, and a Little 
Christian church quickly took its place. In it Rodoric 
and Schwanhilde were married. In token of her 



gladness and thanks she changed her name to 
Christina, and the httle town that lifted its eyes 
to the hill upon which the new temple stood became 
Christnach, or Christina's town. 

But Celt has left his mark as well as Roman. Let 
us take a roundabout way to Fels. It is via Grau- 
linster, Junglinster, Burgelinster and Altlinster, all 
four lying scattered in valleys of Black and White 
Erenz. ,We return to Breitweiler bridge and ascend 
the Blumenthal, through which the Black Erenz sings, 
woefully misnamed, though tribute in name denied to 
the river has been bestowed upon the valley. For 
it is a valley of flowers, this rugged river vale ; its 
rocks are thrown high and low ; they make the river 
sing the merriest of songs of companionship as its 
waters kiss the rough anger of stones into the smooth- 
ness of friendship. Mosses g'row down to listen 
and to drink ; flowers bend their lovely heads and, 
with colour's melodious voice of praise, join in 
Nature's hymn. Unspoilt Nature is like a dim and 
venerable fane : it commands a heart's tribute. So 
by a ribbon-like pathway, fallen at random' where 
there was room^ a light tracing of footsteps which 
have scarcely worn a zigzag way over the forest's 
carpet, the wanderer goes, untU Graulinster calls from 
the left across the stream'. And why all those 
" linsters "? It was the Celt who threw a handful 
of them down by the two rivers. " Ster " means 
a river and " lin " a marsh, and the name Linster 
became that of one of the most important domains 
of all old Luxembourg. The lords of Linster had 
their feudal stronghold at Burgelinster, and in the 


history of the Duchy their doings are not surpassed 
in number and their power in importance by those 
of any other house in the land. It was not by war 
but by the claims of succession that their power was 
broken ; the domain was divided and the divisions 
were subdivided ; there was, for once in a way, 
no power in numbers. At Burgelinster, between 
the old and the young Linsters and the two rivers, 
two towers and some ruins of their castle are to be 
seen ; the last branch upon a stupendous family, 
tree withered only towards the end of last century. 
Here the two rivers almost meet, little more than 
half a mile separating them. Typical villages are 
the four Linsters, set down in charming country. 

Junglinster church is well worth a visit. Built, 
in Renaissance style, in the second half of the 
eighteenth century, it suffered, with others, from the 
outrages of the Revolution, but it has been tastefully 
restored. The frescoes in the choir are the work of 
Echternach monks. The vault of the choir carries 
a beautiful Majestas Domini — Christ, on a throne of 
cloud, surrounded by angels, the patriarchs, the 
prophets, the saints of the Old and New Testa- 
ment. Below, on the earth, the seven cardinal 
virtues are seen personified, and at the four corners 
are the four saintly Fathers of the Church. The 
high altar and the pulpit are magnificent pieces of 
carved work, as are the confessional boxes, the 
communion bench, the organ and the rood-loft. 

Altminster we visit last, because it is on the WJiite 
Erenz, which is our pathway to Fels. The tiny 
village has no more than a hundi-ed and eighty 


inhabitants, though one would think that its ideal 
position by the river and the richness of its surround- 
ings would attract many more people to it. But the 
straggHng place has its one " sight." This is scarcely 
to be found without guidance, but there are many 
small guides to be found in Altminster's straggling 
" streets." The " sight " is an old piece of Celtic 
carving to be found among the neighbouring! white 
rocks which give the name of the river its adjective. 
It is the Herthesley, or Rock of Hertha. Two| 
thousand years old it is, the little guide will say — 
a romantically long period to him. On the face of 
the rock is a huge piece of relief carving, twelvfe 
feet or so high and eight broad. It is as though 
some mighty die had left its imprint- on the rock. 
There are two huge figures of a man and a woman, 
and no older trace of man's work is to be found in 
the country. It looks as though the wo'm'an were 
veiled. But the storms of two thousand years pr 
more have played sad havoc with detail : the man's 
head has disappeared altogether. So indistinct is 
the whole thing that some people are of opinion 
that it is the female figure that is headless. And as 
to the identity of the pair, beliefs vary too. Hertha, 
or Erda, Earth-goddess, " prophetess of things 
eternal," and Mannus,i some say they are ; to others 
the man is but the priest of Hertha ; others say it 
is merely a tomb-carving. Yet another belief is that 
the two figures represent a couple of slaves in the 
gladiators' prison, waiting to enter the arena either 

' "The first man,'' son of the god Tuisco, forefather of the 
Istaevones, the Ingaevones and the Herminones. 


to fight with or to be devoured by "wild animals. That, 
however, is hard to believe. I hold to the opinion 
that the Celtic Ung who carved it carVed Hertha 
and her priest. Names near at hand are all Celtic. 
There is, close by, Freyley, or Freystein (Freia's 
Rock), and a neighbouring cavern is Hertegeswey, 
the same divinity's armoury. And it is believed that 
the top of the Herthesley was an altar for Druid 
sacrifice ; there are still traces of steps to the top. 
There a magnificent view can be obtained. All the 
Linsters are visible and both rivers — a wide stretch 
of greenery and gold and silver, with a drab element 
introduced by the villages. It is a very great pity 
that precautions have not been taken to protect 
this relic against wind and rain and sun. Long ag'o 
would it have been obliterated were it not that the 
rock has fallen a little forward, thus protecting the 
carved part. It is a curious piece of work, which 
could never have been anything else but rough and 
uncouth — one of man's earliest scribbles in his 

Changed are the Gods of Hunt and Dance, 
And he with these. 

But not " Farewell, Romance I " That still lives 
through all changes, whether of growth or decay. 
Locally the " sight " is called De Man and Fra op 
der L^. 

Most people arrive in Fels by the miniature rail- 
way which comes from the main ,Luxembourg-Ettel- 
briick line at Kruchten. It must be the smallest 
public railway in use in the world, I should think. 


The engines are little toy things and move at a 
sedate pace, taking a solid five minutes for each 
mile of the eight between the two towns. Though 
a whole carriage, generally in two compartments, 
does not carry more than a score of people, they 
are very comfortable. There are no stations en route, 
but the train stops occasionally at places marked 
out for stopping by a " cafe de la gare " and a 
" boite aux lettres," and the guard descends to inspect 
both in search of animate and inanimate loads. The 
station building at Fels, right up in the town by 
the church, is more like a London cabman's shelter] 
than anything else that I can think of. 

It is in the centre of a long and wide " place " 
that the railway line comes to an end. You see at 
once that Fels (in French, La Rochette) has a great 
weakness for trees. They are everywhere ; trees 
to the native constitute the whole art of natural 
decoration. The market-place is thickly planted with 
lindens, and, truth to tell, Berlin might well envy 
some of them and covet them for her famous 
thoroug*hfare. Beech and pine and fir thickly clothe 
all the surrounding heights, and the proud inhabitants 
are very anxious that they should be admired. And 
admiration is most certainly their due, though beau- 
tiful work could be done with shrubs and flowers 
in the height-encircled market-place. Then, again, 
the fine old castle is hidden away in trees, and, if 
you are a photographer, it means a hard climb on 
the opposite height to get a picture which will show 
much of the ruins of the venerable citadel. 

The town is closely packed by the .White Erenz 


and between the " massifs '* which give it its descrip- 
tive name. Here the angler may bring out his rod, 
for up and down stream fish are fairly plentiful. 
Though not so far away from the middle of things, 
though attracting by its beauty a goodly number 
of holiday-makers, Fels is strangely out of the world, 
curiously childish in modern things. About world- 
happenings the people are quite content to remain 
in ignorance. In one little hotel there last autumn 
(19 1 2) I found a score of people in a sitting-room 
having an afternoon chat. Not one of them had 
heard as much as a word of the foundering of the 
Titanic. Only one knew that the North Pole had 
been discovered, and thoug'ht the matter of no im- 
portance ! Those who candidly confessed they did 
not know said that they had forgotten the name of 
the French President. The people have one amuse- 
ment, and that is provided four times daily. It is 
the arrival and departure of the train. Their interest 
in that never flags, winter or summer. They are 
not even very interested in their own surrounding's — 
historical or geographical. I wonder what the village 
schoolmaster is about ! However, I did discover 
one exception to the rule. In a market-place hotel 
I was greeted by mine host with the words, " My 
daughter will be glad to see you." The young lady 
appeared, and we had an interesting chat — in English. 
Mademoiselle, I discovered, read the Daily Telegraph 
carefully every day ! 1 

Fels first appears in history as an important 
stronghold, about the time of William the Norman. 
A place with such fine natural claims was bound 


to be chosen as somebody's stronghold, and the 
possessor of it was just as certain to become a 
powerful personage. And mighty rulers the lords 
of Fels were for long ages, making history in cam:p 
and at court ; from the Crusades to the Revolu- 
tion there was not much that happened in which 
lords of Fels had not some share. It was the 
redoubtable Marshal Boufflers who brought ruin upon 
their magnificent castle in his long and fairly 
thorough campaign against the strongholds of the 
Duchy. Neglected and in ruins it lay, until in 1840 
it was bought by the Grand Duke, who took steps 
to preserve what was left. 

It is a marvel of militant masonry, reached now- 
adays by a stairway up the wooded height. You 
will find the gateway barred and an instruction to 
ring the bell. And it is necessary to ring loudly, 
for the guardian has a large domain to look after 
and the sound of the bell may have to carry a long 
way. What was evidently the courtyard of the castle 
is now laid out as a sort of park, trees clustering 
as thickly as they do outside the walls. Every- 
thing is " in order." There are benches at shady 
spots, well-kept paths ; Monsieur le gardien has seen 
to it that there is no danger of your falling down 
the rock if you happen to become enthusiastic about 
a certain view ; the bounds of terra firma are clearly 
and strongly set. And from this part of the height 
there are certainly many glorious views to be had 
over hill and forest and town. Scattered about this 
novel park are odds and ends of ruins, and behind it 
lies the cluster of the remains of the donjon. They 


are fairly well preserved. A number of rooms may- 
be visited after admiring the fagade, which in all 
its glory must have been exquisite, and is still fine. 
High up, like an inaccessible niche in the wall, is 
a pointed apse with its beautiful little columns and 
its tasteful carvings. Here was the castle chapel 
in days of old. 

I wonder Fels does not have nightmare on windy 
nights, for it must have noticed that this huge wall 
would work enormous damage on the town below 
were it to fall. Fels evidently has faith in the 
builders of long ago, and perhaps it is warranted. 
There are a score of places in Luxembourg where 
castle walls should fall and bury houses and people. 
But they don't. They were master builders who 
reared them. If they were modern walls, I scarcely, 
think people would " sleep peacefully in their beds " 
below them. Inside the donjon is the castle well, 
about 1 80 feet deep. It was famous in its early 
days for the cold and crystal-clear water which was 
drawn from the rocky deep. But as lovesick maidens 
threw themselves into it, as desperate warriors pre- 
ferred death by water to an end by steel, as babies 
whom some one thought de trop were consigned 
on dark nights to its depths, and as money, plate and 
various treasures were sunk there in times of danger, 
it is little wonder — for all such things happened — 
that the supply of water deteriorated in quality and 
became a byword. But, in these calmer and less 
exciting days, it has had time to recover. The 
castle-rock dragion which waits for toothsome tribute 
at the bottom of the well has lean years now. 


Not far away the guardian and his wife have 
their abode, and the extent of the plateau miay be 
gauged from the fact that, in addition to the exten- 
sive park and ruins mentioned, they have room for 
a good-sized farmyard. Behind is the main entrance 
to the castle, arched, with two round towers and 
with a fixed bridge in place of the ancient draw- 
bridge over the fosse. Here we leave the castle, 
and the guide's last act is to unlock a curious little 
cupboard in which he keeps the visitors' book. I 
generally turn my back on such volumes, but the 
guardian begged me to sign, "as no Englishman 
had visited the castle for a long time." > 

" And," I added, " no legible writer for much 

iWhy is it, I wonder, that those who write their 
names in visitors' books almost invariably provide 
a Chinese puzzle with every entry? 

And skirting a wood, then cutting through and 
descending by narrow paths, one leaves the historic 
height. There is such a maze of paths that one is 
almost certain to take the wrong one and reach the 
road after incursions into the backyards and gardens 
of the houses that face it. But in Luxembourg, 
as a fairly general rule, you miay go wherever a 
gate opens. 

Through all the wooded heights around the town 
there are pleasant walks, with a " belvedere " at 
every possible point and a seat after every climb. 
On the height opposite the castle an old watch- 
tower stands, and from that point can be seen whlat 
trees and climbing ivy and creeping moss prevent 


closer at hand— the magnificently large extent of 
the castle domain, and one can conjure up in one's 
mind what a defiant fortress it once had been. 

Fels has about 1,300 inhabitants, and one out 
of every two nearly is employed in cloth -weaving. 
That is the one thing in which the village has shoiwn 
enterprise, and it has been rewarded by good trade 
and the importance of being one of the most im- 
portant centres of that particular industry in the 
Duchy. I 

Next to Fels the most important place in the 
district in the feudal ages was Meysembourg, a little 
more than three miles away. Early in the twelfth 
century a formidable castle stood there, and for 
two hundred years the barons held by no means 
a little world in awe. Then the fighting stock died 
out and another race took possession. A quarrel- 
some lot they appear to have been, for Meysem- 
bourg, history tells us, was constantly being besieged. 
As the result of one " little war," about the end 
of the sixteenth century, it was completely destroyed. 
Rebuilt, it had about a century's comparative peace, 
until, in 1684, that great warrior Marshal Boufflers 
came along, and, not content with half-measures in 
this case as in most others, he razed it to the ground. 
Before the French Revolution Baron Christophe 
d'Arnoult put up a modern little palace, and from 
him it passed to his son-in-law, the Comte de Wiltz. 
The count ' fled before the Revolutionaries, who 
seized his possessions and knocked them down to 
the highest bidder. That person was " Monsieur 
Antoine, Baron de Casal de Fischbach," the absurd 


sum of 900,000 francs being fixed upon. But as 
the arnount was payable in paper money, perhaps 
" Monsieur Antoine's " banking account was not de- 
pleted to that extent. The place changed hands 
again before it came into the hands of th'e present 
owners, the d'Arenberg family, who have improved 
it very considerably. Prince Charles d'Arenberg, 
the first of the family to enjoy this lovely retreat, 
married Julia, Countess Hunyady, the widow of the 
vigorous Prince Michael Obrenovitch III of Servia, 
who was assassinated on June 10, 1868. 

Meysembo.urg Castle, looking modern, rising high 
with its two large turrets and a cluster oi small 
ones, standing amid beautiful trees, sheltered and 
peaceful near a little river and a lovely lake, sug'g'ests 
nothing of the history of the place. Not a remnant 
of feudal times remains. All castles of the Middle 
Ages drew round them a village of retainers, and 
so did Meysembourg. But even that has vanished 
without leaving a trace. The villagers, aggravated 
by the cruel treatment and harsh laws of " Monsieur 
Antoine," left the neighbourhood, and that Revolu- 
tionary aristocrat, another Rufus, cleared their houses 
out of the way to add to the dimensions of his 

Six kilometres from Meysembourg, by a charm- 
ing road through the wooded ravine of the Rol- 
linsgerbach, and Mersch in its wide and fertile plain 
is reached. 

Mersch was Maresca up to the ninth century, 
then Maresch, from which the transition to the name 
of to-day was not long in coming'. Marsh, of course, 


it means. Geologists tell us that the sea once swept 
up Luxembourg, leaving Vianden's rock a little islet 
some way from the shore. At a time to which no 
record save that of Mother Earth goes back the 
sea gradually receded, and when the earliest in- 
habitants were busy devising names for the places 
where they lived and hunted and fished and fought, 
they lived on a marsh land. Hence Mersch and 
the " lin " of the four Linsters. But the marshes 
have gone, and a far-spreading and fertile prairie, 
decked with woods, its rivers heralded in outline 
from afar by rows of trees, spreads from Merlsch to 

I have reached Mersch from north and south and 
west by road and rail ; I have come to it, guided 
by its towers, from all those directions, fishing-rod in 
hand ; I have tramped into it from the woods of 
the east. Three rivers and six roads lead to it, 
so there is no escape. There is a curious charm 
about the place, with its one long', straggling street 
between Eisch and Ma'mer, and the rest of it thrown 
down anywhere and anyhow. There is charm to 
please, vandalism to make you angry, and charm 
again to soothe away your wrath. 

I have never agreed with Robert Louis Steven- 
son about the tragedy of arrival at a place which 
one has looked forward to seeing. Some places dis- 
appoint, it may be bitterly, but there is, to my mind, 
always something about every place which prevents 
the tragedy of disappointment if one brings to it 
the right spirit of appreciation, which means im- 
bibing something of the patriotism of place. With- 


out that I can imagine myself painting' Mersch ,as 
a tragedy. But let me see how I do paint it I 

Vis-a-vis de la gare, as the guide-books say, a 
quaint old hostelry welcomes the visitor — the " Bran- 
denburger." There the guest still has his expendi- 
ture chalked up on a huge slate. He dines by 
candle-light. Stairs and floors creak with age. And 
I know no more charming, inn in Luxembourg's length 
and breadth, no more genial hostess than Madame 
of the " Brandenburger." She makes the traveller 
at home at once, and her presence turns the com- 
pany in the cafe into a happy family. The birds 
of passage and the local worthies are soon on the 
very best of terms. Mersch was one of the first 
places I ever visited in the Grand Duchy ; its story 
was first told me in the Brandenburger ca.i6 in dialect 
of the broadest, with which I was then only so 
slightly familiar that in endeavouring to follow it 
I felt like a very young schoolboy attempting to 
decipher the last intricacies — if, indeed, such intri- 
cacies are not like Tennyson's brook — of algebra. 

Mersch has two curiosities ; they stand at the 
opposite end of the town from the station, and can 
be seen from far and wide in the neighbourhood. 
One is a tall tower, capped with a black Eastern 
cupola. Here is the visitor's first disappointment. 
Surely a fine old church stands with the tower. 
But no ! The tower stands lonely and by itself 
in a large square ; the church — for there was one 
up to a little more than sixty years ago — has dis- 
appeared. And a magnificent, interesting", historical 
edifice it was, and one of the finest of the ancient 


buildings in the whole of the country. Roman, Gaul 
and Frank had contributed their quota to it, and, 
indeed, relics of that trio of conquering and con- 
quered races are still found thickly scattered over 
Mersch's plain. In 185 i, however, the powers that 
were decided on the demolition of the church, and 
carried their design into all too hurried execution. 
But the Queen-Mother of Holland heard of the work 
of destruction. Her Majesty was of the Imperial 
House of Russia, and the Oriental tower, which she 
had seen several times, recalled to her mind the, 
towers of Moscow and of her native land. So she 
expressed the wish that it might be saved from the 
hands of the destroyers. The royal wish was obeyed, 
and that is how the curious, odd erection remains, 
saved for a Western land by the Eastern style of 
its architect. Some of the salvage from the 
wreck, tnostly carvings, is to be seen in Luxem- 
bourg Museum. They would have been so infinitely 
better where they were. A little farther along the 
street stands the new church, a huge, ungainly build- 
ing, without any of the distinction of art in its 
making. Its front looks, indeed, more like that 
of a theatre than a church. In truth, Luxembourg 
has not been very successful with its modern churches, 
but that at Mersch exceeds all in ugliness ; it is 
the last word in huge crudity. 

Near the tower is the ancient chateau fort of 
Mersch. The building, now a farmhouse, is a dull- 
looking place from the outside, standing high and 
gaunt, still surrounded by its ancient ditches. And 
for some reason unknown to taste or necessity this 


old castle and its gateway have been splashed over 
with light red paint, making' the place an eyesore, 
a grotesque daub of crude colour in the landscape. 

The feudal lords of Mersch were as much re- 
nowned for their enlightened rule as for their figihting 
bravery, and in both their fame lasted long. It 
was one of Mersch's long roll of brave men who, 
at the time of the Princess Ermesinde, founded the 
Convent of Marienthal, which we shall visit in the 
next chapter. 

On the gate is to be seen the coat-of-arlns of 
John Frederick of Autel, last of his line, who died 
in 1 716. He was a general in the army. Governor 
of Luxembourg and Chevalier of the Golden Fleece. 
It was towards the end of the sixteenth century that 
the castle was restored and added to as we see it 
to-day, and certainly the old style of things pre- 
served in the interior compensates for the exterior 
ugliness. Beautiful apartments are found in the 
rez-de-chaussee and on the first floor, one of the 
first-floor vaulted rooms being a particularly fine 
one. The original stone staircase is still preserved. 
The castle has indeed been fortunate. Boufflers, 
destroyer-in-chief in Luxembourg', had no reason to 
turn his cannon upon it, for it bade him no defiance. 

That exhausts Mersch as far as curiosities are 
concerned. Alone they would rightly disappoint those 
who had imagined that the little town (it has three 
thousand inhabitants), lying where three river valleys 
meet, right in the heart of the country, must be a 
much more interesting place. But what Mersch 
fails to provide in historical remains and however 


much it has mishandled what it has and had, it 
compensates for everything by means of its most 
delightful position. Its great plain of rolling green, 
its woods and distant hills, a glorious home of 

The mighty choric god, 
The great hill-haunting and tree-loving Pan, 

and above all the three charming rivers at its doors 
— these are what call the wanderer to Mersch ; these 
are beauty enough. i 

Of Eisch and Mamer the next chapter will tell, 
but before the call of other scenes is responded to 
let us wander down the Alzette for a little. DiiTerent 
it is from the small stream we saw among the 
towering crags of the capital and left, framed in 
beauty, at Hesperange. It has grown by the tribute 
which others have poured into it ; it is now a 
lovely tingling flood of mystic pearl, a string of 
opals with veins full of quivering light. To the 
artist in the sunny days its beauty is a delight, and 
the angler will find that it is better to fish in than 
ever. It hides itself less seldom in bushes, but 
swirls into deep or rippling pools which invite the 
fisherman's fly. 

It is a most pleasant wander downstream, with' 
or without a rod, past Beringen to Mosdorf and 
from there to the tiny village near by, Pittaxige*. 
The place is the northern outpost of the " anges." 
.We have seen many a castle set on a hill ; but in 
pretty Pittange is one whose builders believed so 
in their art as to scorn the reinforcement of strength 
which a high-thrown crag gives. The castle was' 



placed in the valley, and a right stout fortress it was. 
It had four massive towers, parts of which still 
exist. The circumference of these must have been 
150 feet, and the walls were nearly 10 feet thick. 
The position of the courtyard can still be fixed. 
From the centre of it arose a turret, the foundations 
of which stand a little out of the. grourid. So high' 
was it that it could be seen from Luxembourg, 
1 5 or 16 kilometres away. A three-arched bri'dge 
crossed the foss to the entrance, but that has 
gone almt)st. The fosses, ' too, were much wider 
and deeper than is usually the case. The castle is 
part of the Meysembourg estate, and to-day a genial 
farmer, always ready to show the visitor over the 
ruins, uses part of the old feudal residence. 

Exactly how old the place is, is doubtful, but in 
early times Pittange's lords were notable people in 
the land, and they leave a mark in compara- 
tively recent history. One of the family attended 
as witness the marriage of the Princess Ermesinde, 
and nearly a century later a member of the house 
married a great-granddaughter of the Princess. A 
couple of generations later the domain passed to 
the famous Lorraine family ' of Crehange. A 
descendant married the Count de la Peyrouse, a 
name which lives in a field of glory widely different 
from that of his ifighting ancestors. One of that 
name was the explorer of whose expedition, which 
set out in 1786, some of the sad remains were 
found half a century later by D'Urville. The castle 
often bore the full brunt of war. Maximilian of 
Austria completely destroyed it in 1494, but it was 


soon rebuilt, and stood until— well, it is not difficult 
to guess now who wrought the final act of destruc- 
tion. The little village itself claims to date from 
early in the tenth century, when it had the somewhat 
lengthy name of Pittigeromarkum. 

■Where Attert and Alzette join stands Colmar Berg 
Castle, the country residence of the Grand Ducal 
family. It is situated in a beautiful park, but it 
is, unhappily, another instance of tasteless archi- 
tecture. A castle has stood on the spot since the 
twelfth century. Prince Henry, who governed the 
Duchy for William II of the Netherlands, built there 
a beautiful chateau in which were preserved the 
remnants of the ancient building. But its grace 
and beauty did not please the Grand Duke William, 
and he rebuilt it. German in everything, this Grand 
Duke went to the Fatherland for his architects, and 
the new castle is just about the heaviest and crudest 
piece of building that could well be imagined. You 
will be told the style is German, though there is 
an abundance of descriptive adjectives which do not 
need capitals and which would be much more 
appropriate. It is a mixture of everything, with 
the rococo in evidence over all. Luxembourg stands 
in very great need of a school of architecture. The 
visitor's nerves may be soothed, however, by seeing 
the interior. A visit is permitted if the Grand Ducal 
family is absent. The furniture is all in beautiful 
fifteenth -century style, and hints that some one other 
than the Germanic Grand Duke was responsible for 
it and its present arrangement. 

Three miles away is Ettelbriick. 


Sufficient thing — to travel still 
Over the plain, beyond the hill. 

Rupert Brooke. 

Let the streams in civil mode 
Direct your choice upon a road. 

Robert Louis Stevenson. 



It is on the Mies Plateau beside Mersch where 

Alzette, Eisch and Mamer mingle the minstrelsy of 

their shining pools into one harmonious song. 

Alzette we already know — Lorraine-born, proud of 

its lengthy course and, rightly, of its never-fadingj 

beauty from its youth at Esch to old age at Ettel- 

briick. So now there remain to our wandering 

footsteps the valleys of Eisch and Mamer. Both are 

Luxembourg streams entirely, rising within a couple 

of kilometres of each other, trickling from opposite 

sides of the same mountain, flowing apart until 

thirteen kilometres of field and forest separate them, 

running for miles on either side of a tree-covered 

barrier, and finding an end at last in the " Sure's 

provider." On the Mies Plateau, therefore, we shall 

fall in with the advice of R. L. S. and let them 

" direct our choice upon a road." Seldom will 

the taking of that advice lead you wrong in our 


The plateau is a delightful spot, with a wide extent 

of waving grass and trees, especially beautiful when 

it is " crisp with the silver autumn morns distil " 



and the air is laden with the flowers' perfume. .We 
shall ascend the castled Eisch and descend the 

It must certainly always be a matter for wonder 
that such a small country as Luxembourg could 
contain, in the olden days, such a goodly number of 
seigneurs, give them armies, and provide them with 
that wealth necessary to maintain their castles and 
enable them to indulge their generally high ideas of 
how noble lords of the time should live and enjoy 
themselves. Not even Rhineland can, in proportion, 
show so many old castles. The first we encounter on 
this route is that of Hollenfels, rising on a huge 
rock crowned with a thick cluster of trees. Now, 
I have often virtually requested you to call down 
maledictions upon the name of the redoubtable 
Marshal Boufflers ; here I must, in common justice, 
ask you to render him thanks, though not too jubi- 
lantly, and to associate with that praise the name — I 
honestly admit I do not know it — of the lord of the 
Hollow Rock at that particular period. For between 
them they saved the magnificent castle, so that to-day 
it remains the most perfectly preserved of the Duchy 
fortresses of old. Boufflers certainly marched against 
it " with malice aforethought " and put his artillery 
in position. The lord of the castle watched the 
operation with ever-increasing anxiety. Boufflers 
gave the word, and whizzing through the morning 
air came the first warlike call to surrender. The 
gun was extremely well laid, and the shot made an 
ugly dent in the wall. How very good the ainl 
was you can see to-day, for the mark remains. So 



terrified was my lord that the castle of his pride 
should come clattering down about his ears that 
he hastily had the gate opened and the drawbridge 
lowered. Then he hastened to the bold bombarder 
with, " I bring thee here my fortress keys." It was 
not, for Bouiiflers, a very glorious victory, thougji it 
was an easy one. As reward for saving trouble the 
lord of the castle was allowed to keep his proud 
abode intact. ; 

To-day no lordly or craven warrior has it, but 
an amiable and stalwart farmer, and he is only too 
pleased to see visitors and to entertain them. Climb 
up the steep forest road that leads to it and let him 
act as your guide. The castle is beautifully pre- 
served. The delightful fagade is, I should say, six- 
teenth century, but probably when the hurried surren- 
der took place (1683) much of the fortress was 
of recent construction. It has a huge square tower, 
loopholed and strong ; the Salle des Chevaliers ^s 
large — evidently the sires of HoUenfels were liberal 
entertainers. A wall runs along to another tower, 
round, which is also well preserved, and so are the 
chapel, the underground passages and the various 
household apartments, all the latter being quite 
spacious. Ditches run round the building, the size 
and strength of which tells of an important family. 
And so, indeed, these seigneurs were, and time and 
again their names are written big in Luxembourg's 
history. In unbroken succession from at least 11 92 
— that is the earliest date of which there is a definite 
historical record — until about 1800 these sires held 
sway over a domain, and their power, if it experienced 


varying fortunes, was never to be altogether despised 
even at the ebb of fickle fortune. 

Down again from this ancient phantom sharply- 
grey, lying in a most beautiful, slumberous mantle 
of restful green and gold, and we reach the road 
once more. Forward lies the route, round to the 
right, and as you turn the corner greet the hard- 
working young women who, at the old public open- 
air " laundry," which served their great-grand- 
mothers, are busy with the family washing. And 
now we are within sight of the Abbey of Marienthal 
which I have mentioned several times already. There 
are many vales of peace in our little Grand Duchy, 
but here is the queen of them all — Mary's Vale. And 
what name could be mare suggestive of rest and of 
quiet? It is curious that the noise of the outside 
world has never entered here ; that all the storms 
of seven militant centuries have beat around and 
in it in vain and left its calm undisturbed, though 
Nature gave it no protecting barrier like that of 
Esch. .Quiet is the stream which runs by it and 
seems to bate its breath iri so doing ; warlike 
seigneurs, anti-Roman Catholic fury, scores of armies 
searching for battle and the devastating sweep of 
vandalism which the French Revolution sent over 
the Grand Duchy — all these have worked their havoc 
in and around this peaceful vale. Yet still it reposes 
a nest of dreams. 

Here there once stood a: convent for the daughters 
of noble fajnilies. The present remains of the early 
abbey which took the place of the convent are but 
few, for the original abbey building probably dates 


from the year 1237 or thereabouts. It was one of 
the lords of Mersch who founded it, and Ermesinde, 
whom you will no,t have forgotten, did not omit it 
from the long list of the religious houses which that 
noble lady endowed of her charity and her wealth. 
Then the Countess Yolande of Vianden, Sainte 
Yolande — daughter of Henry I and of Marguerite 
of Courteney, of the House of Namur which gave 
emperors to Imperial Byzantium — fleeing from home 
and a hateful marriage, found refuge here, became 
abbess, dying in 1283, leaving a sainted name for 
piety and good works among the people, and living 
long enough to be able to offer to her mother a 
refuge in her old age. Both ladies were buried in 
the abbey, and long after their tombs, with graven 
figures upon them, were found again. 

The abbey of to-day is, of course, a modern build- 
ing. The old convent, after being suppressed by 
Joseph II, that Don Juan-like ruler, suffered severely 
at the hands of the French vandals, much of the 
rrtaterial being taken to build the Grand Ducal 
summer residence which still stands at iWialferdange 
on the Alzette between Luxembourg and Mersch. 
At the turn of the road you look down upon the 
abbey garden, and see a fragment of the wall that 
still stands. And round across the river at the 
entrance there still stands some of the ancient 
building. Enter? iWhy, of course I 

I can never forget the first time I made the 
acquaintance of the venerable Father who rules the 
abbey in the Vale of Peace. I had come by a way 
across the fields and through the woods from the 


valley of the Mamer, and as I approached the vale 
I met the Father with a number of the novices. 
What a striking figure he made ! He was clad in a 
white robe and wore a red fez and a string of dark 
beads round his shoulders. He looked like a figure 
which had stepped out of a picture in an old Bible. 
The swarthy hue given by a North African sun made 
him look almost more Biblical ; he was tall, with 
finely chiselled features — a commanding figure he 
would have been in ^y surroundings and in any, 
garb. To my s,alute he raised a blessing hand and 
then stopped to talk. We returned to the abbey, and 
I was shown over it . Then we w.alked in the garden, 
the centre from which radiates the wondrous peace 
of the vale. The Father is of the Order of the White 
Fathers of Africa, who, from Algiers, have long 
waged the battles of the Cross in the northern part 
of the Dark Continent. And the young men who 
are being trained here in the abbey are destined to 
reinforce that army of peace. How well they are 
trained for their future work 1 And what a magnifi- 
cent place the abbey is to train them in I What 
memories it will leave in their hearts, this Vale of 
Peace, when African sands and an African sun can 
give them nothing so restful and so beautiful as the 
old garden where the gentle Eisch flows I The 
venerable Father has had his share of warfare for 
his faith. Right into the very he^art of Africa he 
has carried the Word as he believes it. One of the 
rooms of the abbey looks like that of an African 
explorer, with its shields and weapons from the far 
shores of Victoria Nyanza and the dark parts of 


remotest Africa. I found it hard to leave this 
garden, wine-warm and lovely with many-coloured 
flowers. To me it must always remain a " garden 
that I love," a memory of quiet delight, clear and 
fadeless. Once more a blessing hand and a hearty 
" good-bye," which, we too often forget, is a bless- 
ing, and I set off .again on my way up the river. 

Past another turn or two of the road, and tower- 
ing high above all around is the castle of Ansem- 
bourg. At the foot of it a little village clusters, and 
as I had gone the greater part of the day without 
anything to eat I ventured into a tiny inn. Oh, but 
the fare was rough I At ordinary times I might 
have turned up my nose at it, but now I had plenty 
of the sauce which hunger provides. And, indeed, 
a Luxembourg ,appetite pardons much. In quiet 
Luxembourg you go into the inn, too, just for that 
reason for which in London and other bustling places 
you buy a newspaper — to get the news. And I got 
it in this case, and a guide as well. 

The Ansembourg family no longer lives in the 
donjon high ; like one or two more of the descend- 
ants of ancient races, their desire for the up to date 
has overcome their veneration for the old and 
historic. So, just before you come within sight of 
the castle height, there is the new residence to be 
seen, a fine modern building with a beautiful French 
garden running down to the river. If it had not 
been for my guide I think I should have taken old 
Ansembourg for granted, and at once pushed farther 
on, so high up and difficult of attainment it appears 
to be when viewed from the road. But Monsieur 


Guide was a jolly fellow and " of infinite jest." His 
stories made the stiff climb seem an easy one, and 
soon we reached the historic ruin on its imppsing 
rock in which time has cut many a deep' crevasse. 

Old Boufflers was not so kind to this fortress as 
he was to that of the Hollow Rock, nor, indeed, was 
the Count of Ansembourg the faint-hearted defender 
that the lord of Hollenfels was when he heard the 
French cannon summon him to surrender.. He set 
up the best defence he could, but had to give in. 
He did not do so, however, before BoufHers with his 
heavy artillery had made the place untenable. The 
castle-destroyer-in-chief, then, is responsible for the 
tragic state in which this ancient building finds itself. 
How old the castle is does not appear to be exactly 
certain, but it is perhaps one of the most recent and 
yet one of the first to be abandoned by its owner's. 
In the fifteenth century there were seigneurs of 
Ansembourg, but not till the eighteenth century did 
they receive the dignity of count. The ancient lords 
were not of the ambitious metal of most of their 
neighbours ; they stirred up few quarrels and took 
part in as little warfare as possible. In present-day 
times Counts of Ansembourg are in the diplomatic 
service of the State. 

It is an awe-inspiring ruin, Ansemboufg on the 
height. The years have thrown an ivy mantle over 
it, as though thinking that in its old age it should 
be decently garbed. Trees ward off the winds and, 
alas ! largely shut out the view up and down the 
river. And still some of its highest walls remain. 
Some say it was abandoned after it had received 


Boufiflers' unwelcome attentions, and, if that be so, 
it is really wonderful that walls which must be con- 
siderably over two hundred feet high should be 
standing and still boldly defying winds and winter 
storms. Ramparts still frown almost every whit as 
angry-looking as when they were the target for French 
cannon. The fagade still preserves much of its 
nobility. Halls are rubbish-strewn, the chapel might 
well be restored to something like decent order. The 
rugged fortress is a weirdly picturesque pile truly 
worth preserving, for it stands in most appropriately 
grim surroundings. At times it looks like a castle 
lifted out of an Aubrey Beardsley picture, a vast 
page torn from an immense fairy-book. Then again, 
when dark clouds lower upon it, this deep-enskied 
keep appears to be one down from which Wiettz 
might send his dragons and giants sprawling. 

Not exactly a place to live in, you may think ! 
But some one does not agree. A farmer has his 
abode in this ghoulish height, and he told me that 
for nearly a couple of centuries his people had lived 
and worked there. Then my guide led me down 
again by a little-fre;quented path and said that I must 
see the smithy. I replied that I had already seen 
it en passant, but that was not enough for him. 
I must see it to appreciate the story that is told about 
it, a story of which the good democratic people of 
the neighbourhood are extremely proud. It re- 
minded me of a faintly remembered story of very 
long ago, of the proud lord who was annoyed by 
the iclang of the anvil not far from his castle and who 
employed some very underhand trick to get rid of the 


annoyance. What exactly the plan was I have for- 
gotten, but it wfts one not very well calculated to 
give one a high opinion of 'old nobility. 

iWell, probably the story came from this part of 
the world, for up on his rocky height an old seigneur 
of 'Ansembourg was kept awake at nights by the 
hammer, hammer, hammer of the diligent smith. 
The smith — be it interpolated — must have been a 
Thor in his craft to send a sleep -breaking clang up 
yonder height, but — well, we are dealing with a story 
and with romantic times. Let it be assumed then that 
the count was disturbed. His lordship informed 
the smith, Rollingen by name, that the annoyance 
must be ended or he would drag the disturber of 
the peace before the administrator of the law. But, 
as my guide would have it, Rollingen was a demo- 
crat. He feared not the seigneur, and he had some 
knowledge of the law. He wa,s, too, of a romantic 
mind and not unambitious, for all his lowly stock. 
So he answered the lord of the castle in this wilSe. 
He would not stop his noise, and his hammer would 
yet accomplish more marvellous thing's than the 
making of horseshoes. His hammer, indeed, was to 
be mightier than the sword, and it would conquer, 
before much time had passed, the very castle itself. 
The story does not relate to us what the noble lord 
of the grim rock said ,on receiving this reply. Evi- 
dently he did nothing, however, foj the smith con- 
tinued to hammer away upon his anvil. Then the 
seigneur lived his alloted span and was gathered 
into the resting-place of his fathers. I give it as 
the guide's solution of this part of the story that the 


law, being famous nowhere for the absence of delay, 
was in those days an even slower affair, and that the 
seigneur did not live long enough to allow of the 
matter being brought into court. 

Be all that as it may, ; time passed, the smith 
flourished, and the count died. With the seigneur's 
death the male line of that particular branch of the 
family came to an end. The only survivor of it 
was a daughter, and she inherited all the broad acres 
and the proud castle of Ansembourg. Now you 
know the rest of the story. There was a lady in 
the case when the bold smith penned his letter to 
the angry seigneur. She — the count's daughter, in 
very truth — persuaded the smith not to mention that 
fact to any one, least of all to the seigneur him- 
self. And, besides, " they were in no hurry." But 
when the lady became her own mistress and lady 
of Ansembourg, why, there was no reason why there 
should not be marriage bells. Aiid marriage bells 
there were from the chapel of the castle itself. And, 
indeed, the Ansembourg line has to thank the hammer 
more than the sword for the fact that the nobility 
of the Grand Duchy still includes amongst it a Count 
of Ansembourg. 

The road, with beautiful woods on either hand, 
sweeps in a south-westerly direction and across the 
Eisch. Then suddenly it almost doubles on its path, 
across the river you go again, and in a few minutes 
the quaint little village of Bour is rqached. There 
is nothing, unless he has a rugged appetite, to 
keep the wanderer any time in the village. It is now 
five or six kilometres to the next of Eisch's castles, 



that of Septfontaines, or, which is the same thing 
come by a different way, Simmern. Simtnern is a 
local boiling down of Siebenborn, i.e., Seven Springs. 
I believe that there are seven springs hereabouts 
which flow into the Eisch, but I have not worried 
to count them, as one can always take the word of 
the people of old in such matters. 

It is impossible to tell whether BoufHers bom- 
barded this castle or not, and it had been sevetal 
years in ruins when the French troops came along 
during the Revolution. The stories of how it became 
a ruin vary a good deal, some saying that it was 
blown up as the result of a sort of local gunpofwder 
plot. More likely, however, is the statement that a 
herd-boy, either by accident or design, set fire to it. 
At any rate, there it stands to-day, a great, scorched, 
solemn-looking ruin, upon a height reached by steep 
paths. The climber is rewarded by a magnificent 
view of the surrounding country-side. The castle is 
a particularly old one, and its early history is " wropt 
in mystery." You can find traces which tell you 
that, as on the plateau of Dalheim', " Rome was 
here." A formidable place it was in the day of its 
might, as you can see from the charred and blackened 
ruins of to-day, a colossal feudal stronghold round 
which many a stubborn fight must have raged. It 
was undoubtedly the greatest of the western fortresses 
of the Grand Duchy, and was within the territory, for 
a. long time, of the Counts of Arlon, who were the 
great people of this particular region. 

The little church is the work of a friend of 
Henry VII, Grand Duke of Luxembourg and 


Emperor of Germany, and the old man who 
showed me over it avowed that the buildejr had so 
far forgotten himself as to give to the Christ the 
features of the ruler whom he had served for some 
time before taking holy orders, and that the group 
in the choir also represents persons living at the 
time, the fourteenth century, who were the friends 
of the builder, one Thomas de Septfontaines. The 
old man, too, had a long Borgian story to tell me 
of the death of this particular Henry, and he wished 
to know if I had ever come across any confirmation 
of it in all the history I had read. I had to confess 
that I had not, and to add that the unravelling of 
ancient poison mysteries was not a pastime of which 
I was fond. Whereat the old gentleman produced 
a tattered guide-book from which he read me a long 
story of the poisoning of Henry at Mass by a priest 
who, it was more than merely likely, had been urged 
to his dark deed by the very person who had bui& 
Septfontaines' little Gothic chapel. A king of France 
and some obscurely royal personage of some other 
country were said to be behind the business, so I 
have little doubt that the story which interested the 
old man had a good deal of truth in it. 

Septfontaines is the last of the Eisch Valley castles, 
but the fact that all the ancient glories set up by 
men are at an end does not by any means imply 
that we are at the end of the attractiveness of this 
part of the little Duchy. On the contrary. If the 
visitor is in the mood for a dehghtful tramp, he 
cannot do better than shoulder a Riicksack and trace 
the Eisch to its source. It is not " a straight path, 


my wanderers," but for those who like a glorious 
tramp through delightful country here is a little 
nook in our lovely Kuritania that will pr'ovide it. 
So hurry on to Hobscheid and seek repose at the inn 
there. Be up and ready for the way by sunrise, 
when the air is crisp and walking feels to be the 
one thing in all the world, and when the amethystine 
wave of the dawn is throwing its tide upon the 

Attractive roads are of two kinds in the real 
wanderer's view. First there is that that rises and 
falls, bringing now a struggle to reach the height, 
then, like a siesta in the warmth of day, the slope, 
an easy and restful saunter down again to valleys 
and rivers ,and greener trees. The true tramp is 
not like some modern town builders ; he does not 
want long vistas. He likes a road that will lure 
him on now with height and now with vale, not 
being prodigal of too many of its charms at one time, 
but presenting them one by one and always keeping 
something hidden behind the next turning, some- 
thing that calls. For so a road is like life. There is 
always something unknown and untasted, and, as that 
makes life what it is, so the eternal secret of the 
road gives it that attractive nature which the way 
in front must always have to the eyes and to the 
imagination of him who truly loves a road. 

But it is not this kind of road that I offer the 
wanderer now. That which shares the sauntering 
and the song of the Eisch is no height-cUmbing way, 
but what it loses by being fairly level it wins back 
again by twists and errant rambles through forests, 


so that little by little the traveller by it knows what 
delights it has in store for him. It is still the 
Eisch-climbing main road by which you travel west- 
wards from Hobscheid, and with the Grossbusch 
woods on the right and the river and the fields on 
the other side, it goes gently twisting until Eischen 
is reached, a little beyond the railway line. Any one 
will tell you the woodland way from there to 
Steinfort. River and railway are crossed again, and 
beside the station you leave them to run along the 
frontier for a little while and take the more easterly 
path which goes at times under the shade of trees 
and at others on the outskirt of the woods with the 
verdant heights spreading themselves all around. 
For a summer forenoon there are few more pleasant 
tramps in the Grand Duchy than this border wander 
between Eisch and Steinfort, amid fairest greenery 
with the jewel-flash of the sun upon the landscape. 
At Steinfort the path joins the main road between 
Arlon and Luxembourg, one of those very excellent 
roads for which this part of the Continent is famous, 
and which make it an ideal locality for the cyclist 
to tour. There are several inns which will provide 
satisfaction for the appetite which the wialk from 
Eischen has created, and a ramble round the pretty 
little town will prepare the tourist for the next dtape 
of the way. Steinfort lies crowded quite picturesquely 
on both banks of the river, 'its quaint-looking houses 
fitting almost exactly into an accommodating bend. 
There is a direct way south to the small town of 
Kleinbettingen, which is an important railway centre, 
the middle of a spider's web of lines, but the way 


I took one suiiny afternoon is, I think, much to be 

I simply followed where the river led, sometimes 
having odd scrambles for my trouble, and reaching 
a tiny place called, if I remember rightly, Kahler, 
which is little more than a railway station. It had 
a good road to tempt me, but I adhered to my com- 
panion the river until I reached Grass. Here there 
was a somewhat different choice of routes. I could 
either keep on following the river, which had the 
railway for company, or take the main road, which 
struck straight through a forest. But it was getting 
late, so I inquired for an inn. There was none. Que 
faire? Take the train to Kleinbettingen, one person 
was good enough to suggest, but that was like beating 
a retreat. Well, then, take it in the other way to 
Clemency, said another of the mildly interested 
peasants to whom I was talking. I looked at the 
map. The name Clemency had an attractive sound, 
but when I put my finger on it on the map a third' 
person in the crowd ventured to suggest that there 
was no such place. Oh yes, there was, another added, 
and it was only four or five kilometres away. Still 
the other would have it that there was something 
wrong, and that he had never heard of the place. 

There it was on the map, however, and off I set 
in the gathering twilight to find it. The way dived 
straight into darkening woods, all silent save for 
the occasional scamper of some late-prowling little 
animal. It was delightfully cool, and going was 
easy and invigorating. Along came an old farmer's 
labourer, joining the road from a side-path. Out 


of curiosity I asked him if he knew where such a 
place as Clemency happened to be. He expressed 
ignorance, and, looking upon me as a suspicious 
character, he went on with a growled "good-night." 
The matter was getting very strange, and no mistake. 
Here the map showed a town a few kilometres away ; 
here was a finger-post supplying information as to 
the places in the opposite direction ; and passers-by 
were looking on me with suspicion. 

Another inhabitant appeared before the previous 
one had got out of sight, and I asked him a different 

" What is the name of the next town? " I inquired, 
after an evening salutation. 

" Oh, Kuentzig, you mean? " was the reply. 

" Yes, I suppose I do, if it is also, called 

" Well, some people call it that, but the German 
railway people call it Kuentzig, and that name 
appears to be more generally used than the other." 

And the moral to those that wander is that it is 
advisable to remember that many towns in our Duchy 
have two names. But it was certainly curious to 
come across a German name right on the French 
border where the German character of the people, 
once evident enough no doubt, had entirely dis- 
appeared. Yet Kleinbettingen, not many miles away, 
might have warned me. 

So at Clemency I found a passable abode for the 
night, and was up with the dawn again. 

There are not many more delightful views than 
that which you will see if you are up early enough 


to watch the sun rise over the eastern hill that guards 
Clemency, It is Mount Mauerchen, the Mountain of 
the Little Wall. Taking the Mamer road, you cross 
the stream near the station. Go on till you find 
a pathway cutting off at right angles — that pn 
the left leads to a little village with the name of 
Fingig — and in less than a quarter of an hour you 
should find the spot where the long-traced Eisch has 
its rise. Westward you look to where Clemency lies 
on the outskirts of a mass of green forestland ; you 
can see the twisting river and the railway that twists 
with it, for the engineers who made the iron way 
knew that, as the river took the line of least resist- 
ance, they would save themselves much boring and 
cutting if they too took it for guide. It is not often 
that engineers are so wise ; generally they delight 
in running their heads against a wall till they get 
through. So if our Grand Duchy has a railway 
that would annoy the hustler with its twists and 
turns, it has one here which brings pleasure to the 
wanderer who must travel by it, since it runs beside 
and not through Nature's beauties. 

The source of a stream I Is it not, my wanderers, 
an event? But to-day we shall mark with two such 
white stones. We shall find the rising point of the 
Mamer as well. That of the Eisch is, perhaps, the 
most interesting, for it is curious to think what a 
twisting course, what historic ground the water trick- 
ling from the little mountain-side must know before 
it reaches the plateau of Mies and, introducing itself 
to Mamer and Alzette, accomjjanies them to the Sure. 
Septfontaines, Ansembourg, Marienthal, Hollenfels — 


these are the proud places which it has in its course, 
and there is no need why the Eisch should envy any 
other river. 

Mamer is a stream of a different sort. From the 
same " Little .Wall Mountain " it comes, but it flows 
to its destination with determined directness. Let 
us seek the spot which sees its rise. Climb over the 
" Little iWall " and you reach a path through the 
fields back to the main Mamer road. Down the slope 
and in a quarter of an hour you are in the little 
village of Hivange. There any one will tell you 
where the source is, and it is quite near. Along 
the valley the river and the Mamer road run together, 
the latter delightfully shaded with trees and the 
former learning how to sing. Only too soon you will 
hear the noise of the railway again and behold a 
station which informs you that the town lying over 
there has taken its name from the river. There is 
no reason fof remaining in Mamer — a fairly busy 
little place which is scattered on both sides of the 
highway — and besides there is a wood ahead offering 
a much more pleasant midday halting-place than any 
inn. This wood goes by various names. If you 
take the path along the river-side you are soon 
marching along with the forest on your right. That 
is the Strassenbusch. And when the trees close 
in on the left, too, the addition is the Juckelbusch, 
On the right, beyond the Strassenbusch, is the huge 
forest of Baumbusch, stretching away till it touches 
the outskirts of the city of Luxembourg. 

Right from here to the plateau of Mies road and 
river run together through this green paradise. After 


Kopstal, where the wanderer may stay the night, 
the forests break up into sections, and many paths 
lead alluringly into the greenwood. The river, too, 
is an excellent one for the angler. In fact, from' 
Mamer downstream to Mersch the wanderer cannot 
do better than go rod in hand. The river is all 
free, and he can be certain of a good '•' kill.'^ The 
trout in the river, at least so is my experience, are 
not very large, but both quantity and quahty will 
more than recompense the fisherman for the small 
individual size of the fish which will be fatally at- 
tracted by his bait. Fishing, too, takes one slowly 
through this delightful piece of country, and it is 
well to go leisurely in this corner of the Duchy, for 
it is rich in spots of particular charm to the nature- 
lover, and to hustle through it is really wantonness. 
If time does not permit the visitor to make such 
an extended tour in this part of the country, then a 
good plan is to retrace one's steps either at Ansem- 
bourg or Septfontaines back again to Marienthal 
and take the bypath which leads across country, via 
the delightfully situated farm of Klaushof, and reach 
the Mamer-Mersch road at Schonfels. Schonfels — 
the last of the castles of this region — is called by the 
natives Schindels, which again is doubtless derived 
from the ancient name of the fortress, which was. 
Schindalesheim and later Schonvels. There is a 
difference of opinion as to which height here is 
entitled to the name. The castle is certainly called 
by that name, but there is another rocky eminence 
a little distance away to the left which some say is 
the real Beautiful Rock. This rock is said to have 


got its name from one of the ladies of the manor of 
old on account of the fact that her son one day fell 
over it but was guarded in his fall by a guardian 
angel, so that he was found by his wellnigh despair- 
ing mother sitting at the foot of the crag as though 
nothing had happened. 

That happening is said to be the reason for the 
existence of the little chapel which stands on the 
rock facing the castle on the other. In the same 
rock is a grotto which is called the " Grotte des 
Nains," and also the " Vichtelsloch." This particular 
race of dwarfs went by the name of Nutons, and th© 
story has it that they overran the whole country at 
one time. Their reputation, unlike that of most 
of such little folks, was a good one, and many tales 
are told of the good those small people did by 
stealth when the world was young, when benefactors 
had little difficulty in shunning advertisement and 
seldom had to blush to find their good deeds made 
the basis of fame. And there is their home. I 
must leave the wanderer to explore it for himself 
and see if the grotto is the entrance to an underworld 
Ruritania, as the good people in the neighbourhood 
will have it that it is. 

And now up to the castle. A huge place it must 
have been, and an awe-inspiring one in the long- 
lost days of its pristine might. There, too, is the 
serf village crouching closely to the protecting for- 
tress. In reading the history of Luxembourg the 
name of the seigneurs of Schonfels is nearly alwlays 
encountered when " there is throats to be cut and 
work to be done." A particularly large number 


of neighbouring lords, too, appears to have had scores 
to wipe out with the bold barons of the Rock Beauti- 
ful. Often was the place attacked, and several times 
taken, and its owners, down to the sixteenth century, 
when the domain passed out of the hands of the 
original family, the lords of Schonfels, were seldom 
without warlike work to do, either as the attacking 
party or as the attacked. 

Still the castle stands on its high-flung, wind- 
braving rock, kept, happily, in fairly good repair by 
the Goethals family, into whose hands it has come. 
Swarthy with age are its many parapets, but strong 
are the Walls of the great and imposing donjon, 
to the top of which the visitor can climb, be he 
so minded, by a rough staircase of a hundred and 
seven steps. His energy will certainly be rewarded, 
for not only is there a fine bird's-eye view of the 
castle to be obtained, but a magnificently beautiful 
stretch of country lies all around. At no time is 
the surrounding country-side, river and valley and 
height, more charming than when the impetuous 
purples from the sky of peace make the evening 
gorgeous and the wind's inexplicable tune plays 
lightly among the trees and the ruins. True, those 
who have restored the fortress have not been quite 
so tasteful as they might have been, but that they 
have restored it at all must be counted to them' 
for credit. The porch of the donjon is a crude 
and unnecessary sort of thing, and the venerable ruin 
was in no need of the modern windows which have 
been put into it. Still, it is as fine a relic of that 
greatness of Luxembourg whose might is spent, and 


as you leave it and tramp down the valley towards 
Mersch many a time will you turn to look back again 
at the towering fortress of the Beautiful Rock. 

The forest on the left dies away ; yonder rise the 
tower and the church spires of Mersch again, and 
you follow the river into the quiet little town, bring- 
ing with you an appetite for the Brandenbourg 
Hotel's jugged hare, which will require not a little 
satisfying. And if you are wise and have an eye 
to the future you will bring with you Mamer trout 
to vary the feast. But at any rate you will cherish 
in your memory innumerable pictures of two of the 
loveliest streams which flow through our beautiful 
little Ruritania. 


Here sprawls the earth, in chaos hurled — 
Brute fastness of a ruder world — 
Couched dragonlike with spine and horn, 
And flushed with fury eve and morn. 

A. C. Benson. 



Where the Alzette finds, with the Wark, extinction 
in the all-consuming Sure, stands Ettelbriick. The 
name, as I have explained, means Attila's Bridge. 
Though doubtless " the Goths' wide-wandering 
camp " was pitched everywhere in this neighbour- 
hood, there is no proof that the great " fiiider of 
the sword of Mars," who claimed to be ruler of the 
Barbarians from the North Sea to the dim confines 
of the Celestial Empire, ever built a bridge here 
or even passed through the place. But a town can 
scarcely be asked to change its name for any such 
paltry reason. His followers, of course, might have 
so named the place as an honour to their ruler. But 
why is not apparent ; there is not and never was 
anything distinct or distinguished about the place. 
It was never a fort ; it never had a castle. However, 
that is their affair. 

A long, rambling town, it is industrial and an 
important railway junction ; it has an agricultural 
college famed beyond the borders of the Grand 
Duchy, a retreat for the aged, a monthly cattle fair 
and a church. Everything about it suggests the 

15 225 


town with no history. The church looks old and 
worn from the outside but is surprisingly beautiful 
inside, and in its calm you forget its annoying" archi- 
tecture, in which the builder has endeavoured to be 
Roman and modern at the same time — an attempt 
made rather too often in Luxembourg. 

On account of all that, however, do not leave 
Ettelbriick severely alone. It is a capital centre for 
excursions in the north-eastern corner of the Duchy. 
Its hotels are good ; three railways and three rivers 
and thrice as many roads make the ugly little town 
their centre, and railway, river and road can satisfy 
all tastes in travel. To the north spreads the Osling ; 
southward is the region of the Alzette and its tribu- 
taries. The Vianden and Echternach regions lie 
eastwards, and to the west the lovely land between 
the rivers Wiltz and Attert. Ettelbriick, indeed, is 
a better wander-centre than Vianden. 

But just a moment before we leave. One morning 
the landlady greeted me with : " II y aura beaucoup 
de monde partout aujourd'hui." And why? Because 
it was " le grand jour de fSte " — Grosse Kermesse. 
A delightful September sun was shining, and trains 
brought hundreds and hundreds of people from all 
parts of the district. Religious observances over 
on a feast day, Ettelbriick, twice its size for the 
time, settles down, with talk and laughter, to enjoy 
the two things for which the place has no little 
fame. Dinner begins with jugged hare and ends with 
plum-tart. The hare, supposed to be responsible 
for Easter eggs, should really be an Easter dish, 
but Ettelbriick, like other places, has got so fond 


of it that large quantities of this somewhat heavy 
fare are consumed on all high days and holidays 
and even private " glad and jolly days." The 
Luxembourg plum-tart is a much more distinctive 
production ; it varies in size, but your Luxembourger 
Ukes it large. On the pastry, light as Vienna bread, 
plums cut lengthwise are placed in circles till the 
whole is covered ; sugar is plentifully scattered over 
them^ and the tart is put in the oven for a short 
while. During the plum' season there is no getting 
away from this somewhat primitive dainty ; at break- 
fast, lunch and dinner it occupies no small portion 
of the table. It is tasty and refreshing — if you avoid 
jugged hare ! 

There is a good main road, as well as a railway, 
to Diekirch ; but there is also a woodland pathway 
of which no guide-book tells, and which, as far as 
I know, no map deigns to show. On the opposite 
side of the river from the town rises a little mountain 
called the Nouck, the western extremity of a wooded 
highland which runs on the south side of the Sure 
from Ettelbriick to Diekirch. At either end there is 
a " pavilion," that on the Nouck being finely placed 
and offering a beautiful view along this woodland to 
Diekirch. A path runs, zigzag, from one height to 
the other, another of those glorious ramble-ways 
in which the Grand Duchy is so rich. It passes above 
the village of Ingeldorf, lying on the left bank of the 
Sure, where are still to be found some remains of 
a bridge built by the Romans. After leaving the 
outskirts of the village the path' mounts again, 
plunges right across the height of land, and then. 


after a right-angle turn, g;oes straight forward 
towards the eastern eminence, the Hart, one of the 
most charming view-points in this part of the country. 
Especially is the landscape surrounding the town 
beautiful when the soft flame of morning and evening 
is upon wood and hill and river, when Nature, lovely 
colourist, shows us all the rapture that is autumn— 
a memory-haunting vision. 

If you go exploring round Diekirch there is no 
getting away from' things Celtic. The Hart has 
many a " mardelle," a slight hollow, the almost- 
obliterated excavation in which the rude Celt had 
his home. And just on the fringe of the wood, 
towards Diekirch — the word itself is from Didekirch, 
i.e., the Church of Dido, or Dide ' — stands a huge 
menhir. It consists of two piles close together, each 
of five large, roughly hewn stones. There are two 
great blocks on the top, the uppermost being pointed. 
This relic of Celtic times is known by two different 
names ; one is Deivelselter, or Devil's Altar, and 
the other Didoselter (or Dideselter), the Altar of 
Dido. Personally I prefer the latter, but people 
who can find among the dents and roughness of the 
great stones something that looks like a cloven foot 
hold that it was erected to his Satanic majesty. 
I think something more of the Celts than that, and I 
believe they were more likely to raise their rough 
tribute to the goddess of Beauty, of Love and of 
Marriage. The original megalith fell to ruins in 
1815 before the onslaught of the weather. In ruins 

' This is not Virgil's Dido, but the granddaughter of Odin 
and the niece of Thor. 


it lay for over thirty years, and then the reconstruc- 
tion was a matter of difficulty owing to the fact that 
only a dim idea existed of what the " altar " was 
originally like. Of the twelve stones of which it 
is composed five are new, including the roughly 
pointed top. During the excavations at the time of 
the restoration part of a skeleton was found, together 
with a few examples of the crudest and oldest pottery. 
Some authorities say that the skeleton is that of the 
first victim to be slaughtered here in sacrifice to 
the gods. 

From the menhir a delightful view of Diekirch 
and the surrounding country-side is to be had, the 
sight penetrating on a clear day as far as to 
Bourscheid Castle, nine kilometres across country, 
a grey mass against the blue of distance. And not 
only in the rough altar have the rearers of it left 
traces of themselves. The names they gave to 
villages, brooks and heights have survived. Chris- 
tianity has turned Thorenberg to Herrenberg, but 
the God of War is still honoured in such names as 
Bellenflesschen, Bollendorf, Behlendorf and Behlen- 

Diekirch lies on the left of the wide valley of the 
Sure, protected by an amphitheatre of encircling 
heights. Tradition is liberal in the age it bestows 
upon the place. Too liberal, people said, until one 
day down by the river near the bridge was found 
a medallion which proved to be one of that Roman 
Emperor who is known in history by his nickname — 
Caracalla, son of Septimus Severus, the Emperor 
who died at York in 211. With that medallion it 


would really be a poor and unimaginative town which 
could not construct a story of imperial favour and 
staggering antiquity. And Diekirch certainly played 
its part well in history. It fought bravely against 
all foes. Its walls were reared by John of Bohemia, 
and, centuries later, Boufflers the Eternal was sur- 
prised to see the besieged coolly repairing, under 
a hot fire, the damage which his guns had caused ! 
A century ago the walls were razed, and where they 
ran there are now shady boulevards. 

The most curious thing about Diekirch is that the 
old town stands out perfectly distinct and still guards 
its ancient characteristics. The border-line between 
old and new is quite clear. The ancient streets with 
huddled houses, the narrow culs-de-sac, are crowded 
together in the centre of the town, while round about 
the new spreads in open order and with ample space. 
Hidden in one of the culs-de-sac, in the centre of the 
town, stands the ancient church of St. Laurent — a 
venerable building in a pitiful state of decay. It 
has the marks of four different centuries upon it. 
The nave on the northern side at the left dates from' 
the ninth century, the time of Charlemagne. That 
part was probably all the primitive building of that 
time consisted of. The great portion of the building 
as it stands to-day is sixteenth-century work, though 
the fagade is probably two hundred years younger. 
In 1758 a fire destroyed the spire, which was rebuilt 
shortly afterwards. It is a great pity that such an 
old church — the oldest in this part of the country — ■ 
should crumble to ruins. -When I was last in it some 
poor efforts at restoration were evidently being made ; 


dust from the roof was falling thickly over all ; 
a little box was there for those who liked to help 
the work forward, but it was empty. For eleven 
hundred years here has been holy ground. Even 
to-day, amid the dust, the decay and the darkness, 
there is a majesty of peace, a fascination in the 
edifice which not all the harmonies of architecture 
and colour and light and order can always ensure. 

At the entrance to the cul-de-sac, and almost hiding 
it, stands the Hotel de Ville — just about the crudest 
piece of architecture I have ever seen. It is really 
frightful. But it was presented to the town by the 
proprietor — the person, no doubt, mainly responsible 
for the crazy piece of work ; and the people of 
Diekirch, good souls, fall back on the saying : "A 
cheval donne on ne regarde pas k la bride." So, 
without enthusiasm, they term it " le chateau de 
Diekirch." 1 shall leave the new church of St. 
Laurent alone, for to talk of it would only be to 
become angry in adjectives about more bad archi- 

A kernel of antiquity in a modern shell, Diekirch 
has little in itself that is of interest to show ; it is 
its surroundings that charm and attract. Its people 
are most enthusiastic anglers — so much so that they 
fish with five or six rods at a time ! But angling 
information has its place elsewhere. ' At no part of 
its long course does the Sure pass through such 
delightful country as at this part. Go down the wide 
valley to Gilsdorf and you cannot but admire the 
fine green of the rolling fields and the picturesque 
' See Chapter X. 


hills, a delightful contrast to the ruggedness and 
chaos which is to be seen higher upstream and 
farther down as well. Beyond the village is a choice 
of rambles. On the right side the dainty little Sassel- 
bach runs with a song into the Sure, after having 
bickered down a charmingly rugged little valley, and 
the path up the gorge leads to the Fels-Medernach- 
Diekirch route. 

Farther down on the other side of the river the 
Blees contributes to the waters of the Sure, and a 
road runs with the stream, crossing and recrossing 
it, till Brandenbourg is reached. High above (450 
metres) towers the Herrenberg. A path leads up 
to the top from the Blees Valley, and it is said that 
on a clear day you can count thirty villages lying 
around Diekirch. I cannot vouch for the accuracy 
of the figure, for, to my mind, arithmetic and scenery 
go very badly together. But the sight of that land- 
scape from the top of the Herrenberg, or even from 
the platform kindly placed some distance up, that 
parterre of prettiest colours, is something to enjoy 
and remember. Down again, and an apple-tree- 
bordered road leads onward. This is a little-known 
route, but, to my hiind, it leads through one of the 
most attractive parts of the Duchy. A road -with 
apple-trees on either side and a river singing near — 
that is a wanderer's joy, surely. And that talkative 
river has a name it deserves, an endearing diminutive, 
for Blees has been run together out of By-laes, which 
means " little river." It ripples down from a plateau 
fifteen kilometres north from the Sure, and, like 
a true wanderer, it twists that fifteen out to twenty. 


And it enjoys life all the way. It frisks over innumer- 
able cascades ; it acted as a guard for one side of 
Brandenbourg Castle when the foe came, and pro- 
vided water for the deep fosse on the other. And 
were I an enthusiastic angler, it is in the Little River 
that I should fish, for it is the most sporting river 
of all the Grand Duchy. 

You pass little Bastendorf — a score of tiny houses 
round a spired fourteenth-century church, with 
flowers, fertile fields and little gardens. And, in 
addition, it is just here that you cross a frontier 
which no map shows ; you go from Gutland to 
Osling. You leave smiles for frowns, and the Little 
River, which sings past both, makes music in more 
dulcet tones below Bastendorf. It was the sea that 
made Gutland, and through Bastendorf the shore- 
line passed. Blees, having danced along on a path 
of schist, takes a way of sandstone ; it leaves the 
last of the tall poplars and begins to water apple- 
trees ; it comes from shadow to sunshine, from one 
sounding-board to another of a different kind, which 
softens and sweetens its rollicking lay. You cannot 
help seeing the difference ; you can feel it if you 
taste air as a wine-taster tastes wine. The valley 
becomes narrower, the heights lose their soft and 
radiant charm, the whole aspect of the country 
becomes severe with real northern dignity. The sea 
calmed the passion of the southern lands, but in the 
north streams and rain and wind and snow wrought 
them into the chaos they are to-day. 

Then you come upon Brandenbourg, on its rugged 
height by the river. Luxembourg knew few more 


powerful fortresses, because she had few more rugged 
heights in her length and breadth. It was well to 
know which side the lord of Brandenbourg chose 
before any ducal overlord settled upon a policy or 
called for an army. It was reared in the twelfth 
century, and, until Boufflers appeared suddenly one 
morning before it, rulers of Luxembourg " kept their 
eye on Brandenbourg " with very much greater anxiety 
than English politicians were supposed to have con- 
cerning the moods and doings of Paisley. It was 
the Lancashire of Luxembourgian history . And many 
a fierce siege and assault were directed against it, 
and though it had to give in on some occasions 
it was always defended valiantly. 

And when you look at it to-day, surely, you think, 
Boufflers was something of an artist. He came upon 
a grim Brandenbourg, and he left it in picturesque 
ruins ; he blackened it here and knocked away a 
sharp angle there. And he gave the bushes and firs 
time and room to grow within and without, and from 
them now the towers, with the connecting walls, rise 
in a way which makes the castle dear to him who 
loves a picture. In the wall on the right of the 
castle entrance is still to be seen a stone on which 
three figures have been carved — a fish, a bull and 
a triton, evidently part of a Rom'an tomb or altar 
used by the builders of the castle. And crouching 
at the bottom' of the rock is the poor little village, 
old as the castle itself, crushed and huddled in a 
narrow space, giving an excellent idea of what the 
existence of the serf must have been like. These 
poor people are but little better than serfs to-day, 


working hard for but little. A little brook, happily, 
purrs through the piass of dwellings, bringing refresh- 
ment to brighten the flower gardens and so add a 
speck of colour to the gloom. Brandenbourg is best 
seen in the evening, for the light of a setting sun 
gives a majesty to those crumbling, tree-shaded walls 
which they never have in the full blaze of day ; you 
feel you 

Have been again amidst 
The strange, dim shadows of the deathless past 
Led by a mystic guide o'er memory's waste. 
Not inappropriate is the hour, and as 
The moaning wind moves through the waving trees 
It sighs a requiem o'er the passed away. 

The return to Diekirch can be made by another 
route. A little path, rough and rocky, cuts through 
the thicket to Kippenhof. As you go along you 
have a magnificent view of the Brandenbourg ruins. 
At the height an avenue of pines leads to the Kippen- 
hof farm, where a main road southwards is avail- 
able. It slopes gently downwards through a pleasant 
country-side till Friedhof is passed, and roads branch- 
ing right and left present themselves. Take that 
on the right, and half a mile farther on a pathway 
cuts off the wooded height on the left. That is the 
Forest of Seitert, with the Schiitzenberg rising high 
up above from' a luxurious mantle of green and gold. 
This path, two kilometres long, leads across the 
height to the outskirts of Diekirch — and a delightful 
ramble it is, too. 

The noisy, shaky little " tram\vay K vapeur " takes 
just fifty minutes to go from Diekirch to Vianden. 


It makes the journey to and fro three times a day., 
First thing in the morning, last thing at night, and 
at regular intervals during the day the tiny train 
picks its way carefully through the narrow streets 
of the town, clanging a deep-toned bell. Along 
the river for a mile it goes, passing generally so 
close to the houses that it is not always safe to stand 
on the doorsteps. Clang, clang, clang resounds far 
over the quiet neighbourhood ; then it leaves the 
Sure, runs by the Blees for a mile, and, parting 
company with that stream also, runs through woods 
and a tunnel to the right bank of the Our. Here 
its pathway has been blasted out of the tree-covered 
mountain-side, and its footing on the dizzy height 
seems frail enough. Almost straight below rolls 
the river, and far on the right, mountain and 
valley, spreads Prussia, with Roth, a scattered and 
untidy little village lying at the end of the frontier 
bridge, where no customs are exacted. Twist goes 
the river, and the railway runs across it ; but not 
into Prussia, for here the frontier has been pushed 
back up the mountain slope so that Vianden might 
not have to dwell under two flags. Down rolls 
the train again, with its bell in action, and it lands 
its passengers and goods at a small station on the 
southern outskirts of the town. And in coming 
down it takes care to present to the traveller an 
extraordinarily beautiful view of that historically 
famous little place which derives its name from the 
same source as that of prouder Vienna,' and with 
which rulers as mighty as and mightier than those 
' Celtic, Vien, signifying rocky. 






\:'« '>' 


' V , r 


who used to hold sway in Vienna were not ashamed 
to claim friendship and to desire alliance. 

Vianden straggles, like a rugged S, one long street 
from the station, across the river and up to the foot 
of the bold rocks upon which the castle stands. 
A quaint, picturesque little town it is— a little bit of 
Gutland set down in sterner, grislier Osling, with 
a history which no place in the Grand Duchy can 
surpass. Well, near the station you will find the 
Hotel Ensch. Go in and order lunch, and if you 
wish to be made at home at once by the genial 
proprietor speak in English to hirri, and tell him 
you are looking forward to tasting Our salmon, 
which he knows so well how to cook. Then, while 
you await the luncheon call, cHmb up through the 
jolly little wood at the back of the hotel and look 
down on Vianden, with its gardens and fruit-trees, 
its vine-clad heights, its deep and varied colours, 
and, towering above all, its castle. 

The Romans made a long stay here ; they built a 
fort on the castle rock and left their name to a 
neighbouring height — Ruomeberg. Then Attila, with 
six hundred thousand Huns at his back, drove them 
out, and the victors, too, christened one of the local 
eminences — Hunnenley, the Rock of the Huns. As 
early as 870 Vianden had asserted itself, and history 
tells us that the place, then called Viennense, was 
a district " bien delimit^ et assez considerable pour 
m^riter de figurer comme limite, et plac6 sous I'ad- 
ministration civile et militaire d'un chef puissant, 
ayant le titre de comte lequel ^tait nomme comme 
il dtait revocable h. volont6 par le souverain.'' 


But it is not until about Norman Conquest times 
that we hear of a Count of Vianden, and then he was 
an independent chieftain, passing on his power and 
property to his children, so that there sprang up 
around the place a number of other at first petty, 
then independent, sovereigns — such as the lords of 
Stolzembourg, Falkenstein, Brandenbourg and others. 
The feudal fortress of Vianden, however, had been 
erected some time before this date, for the Normans, 
about the end of the ninth century, sailing up the 
Mosel, heard, as one history tells, of " une forteresse 
nouvellement construite sur une montagne, dans les 
Ardennes ; c'dtait une retraite qu'on regardait comme 
k I'abri 'de toute insulte. Une immense foule s'y 
^tait refugi^e ; mais elle fut emport^e d'embl^e, et 
I'ennemi y passa tout un fil de V6p6e. Apr^s cet 
exploit, les ' barbares retourferent vers leur flotte, 
charges d'un immense butin." ' , 

As in all other instances, the fortress eventually 
drew to it the villages of serfs, and a wall was 
thrown round the town, a wall with twenty-four 
towers, having a ditch encircling it. In 1308 the 
place was enfranchised. Bold burghers indeed were 
the people of Vianden when they could obtain from 
their count an Act giving them liberty on the terms 
on which they obtained it. One Philippe, Count of 
Vianden, we learn from " la charte d'affranchisse- 
ment," having given the matter " due deliberation 
and having consulted his council," took oath to the 
burghers and the whole community of Vianden to, 
grant them " complete, legitimate and inviolable 
' " Les Annales de Metz." 


liberty so that they may enjoy irrevocably the same 
privileges as those which the people of Trier enjoy 
in their own town." Then comes a curious pro- 
vision. When the count married his children, when, 
in defence of rights and heritage, he might be taken 
prisoner, he was permitted "to exact, a just and 
reasonable subsidy." The Act has a still more 
curious ending, which is : " We promise to ratify 
and observe all these things inviolably, and we con- 
sent that, if we should contravene them, our burghers 
of Vianden are authorized to refuse to us their aid 
and succour." As the " charte " contains the phrase, 
" So that things which have passed may not be 
forgotten," it may be assumed that the burghers 
had a strug'g'le to have recognized their right to 
" down swords " and to pull their purse-strings tight. 
Belgium has lately used the strike successfully as a 
political weapon. The world hailed that as some- 
thing new, but this charter shows that it is a very 
ancient strategy. 

While the people exercised their civic rights, the 
power of the counts spread far and near. We read 
of one besieging Metz and of several of them assert- 
ing and maintaining their authority over wide regions. 
They and the town shared the prosperity and hard- 
ships of the Duchy, waged their little wars and 
held high revel. And from this castle came pur 
own William III. 

There is much that is mournful in the town's 
history. In 1498 fire destroyed it largely; in 1587 
"Black Death" swept it, and again from 1632 to 
1636 ; the Thirty Years War (1618-48) told heavily 


upon it, and the last year of the struggle saV it 
reduced to ashes; 1668 brought "Black Death" 
again ; Boufflers' forces were guilty of many out- 
rages in 1678 and 1679 ; in 1702 the French took 
the town, and so much of a barbarian was the 
commander, Captain de la Croix, that his name is 
used as a curse to this day; fire again in 1723 
and flood in 1776 worked great havoc, and then the 
Revolution burst in all its fury upon the place and 
was followed by the disastrous Kloeppelkrieg.' Such 
is Vianden's story. 

You will linger over lunch, with its salmon, its 
" vin du pays meme," its coffee and cigars, till the 
heat of the day is over, and then wander up the 
narrow street to the bridge faced by the old St. 
Nicholas Church, Gothic in style and built in the 
middle of the thirteenth century. St. Nicholas is 
invoked by Vianden against floods, and yet another 
saint stands not far off' to guard the town from the 
fury of the waters. On the left parapet in the centre 
of the bridge, where once a pont-levis stood, is a 
statue of St. John Nepomuk, born at Pomuk, near 
Pilsen, hence ne Pomuk, locally called St. Bome- 
zinnes, a curious corruption of Nepomucenus. He 
exercises a wide sway. In Bohemia he is patron 
saint and patron of fishes ; in Hungary he is patron 
of bridges. The story of the saint is that in the 
fourteenth century he was confessor to Sophia, 
wife of Wenceslas IV, King of Bohemia, and for 
refusing to reveal to the King a confession made 
by the Queen was, in 1383, racked and thrown from 
' See Chapter IX. 


the rack into the Moldau. The story is denied by 
some authorities, who argue that the confessor and 
the canonized are not one and the same person, 
that John Huss is mixed up in the matter and that 
the rack was applied for conspiracy. But we shall 
allow the people of Prague, who have placed a 
statue of the saint on the Carl Briicke, to know what 
they are about when, every May i6th, they follow 
in boats and with song a straw figure which lias 
been thrown into the river. And, say the people of 
Vianden, when the midnight hour sounds, the saint 
turns thrice on his pedestal. 

If the visitor has taken for his guide, as he should 
do, one of the oldest inhabitants, that worthy will 
draw his attention to a house which is on the left 
side of the river. On it is a plaque : — 



Victor Hugo 


The great Frenchman loved Vianden dearly. He 
paid at least five visits to it. In his travels and 
his exile Vianden drew him irresistibly to itself. In 
the little house with the plaque Victor Hugo lived 
during his short 1870 visit and during that of 187 1, 
from the beginning" of June, after his expulsion from 
Belgium, till the end of August. He was accom- 
panied by Mme. Charles Hugo, his eldest son's 
widow, his two grandchildren, Georges, aged two, 
and Jeanne, aged three, and his second son, Frangois 
Victor, all of whom occupied another house farther 



up the street, to which it was customary for Victor 
Hugo to g-o for meals. 

On the last two visits the great Frenchman was 
received in the most cordial manner by the little town, 
and he remained always on terms of the closest friend- 
ship with the people. On his last visit he was given 
a great welcome, and in acknowledg'ing it Victor 
Hugo made this interesting' comment : ' "La revo- 
lution frangaise a delivr^ Vianden. Comment? En 
tuant le donjon. Tant que le chateau a v^cu, la 
ville a 6t6 morte. Le jour oti le donjon est mort, le 
peuple est ne. Aujourd'hui, dans son paysage splen- 
dide que viendra visiter un jour toute I'Europe, 
Vianden se compose de deux choses egalement con- 
solantes et magnifiques, I'une sinistre, une ruine, 
I'autre riante, un peuple." 

It is possible to trace in his work at thils time 
and even subsequently the influence which Vianden 
and its gorgeous scenery had upon him. Here he 
completed his " Annde Terrible " and commenced that 
strange novel " Quatre-Vingt-Treize," the first part 
of a trilogy which was destined never to be finished. 
It was Vianden Castle which inspired his awesome 
description of La Tourgue, and in " L'Annde Terrible " 
are to be found not a few passages which are descrip- 
tions of the country-side which he found so inspiring. 

And the old inhabitant will tell you how earliest 
daylight used to see Victor Hugo busy at his window, 
that window of the house with the flower-laden 
balcony which commanded such an inspiring view 
of mountains and castle and river. No one passed 
' See " Depuis I'Exil," vol. i. chap. vi. 


iTIiL- SlaliiL' nn the liridi;e is that of SI. John Xcpnniuk.l 


without a glance towards it. Then well into the 
forenoon on most days he would receive two im- 
portant visitors — Georges, always dressed in Scottish 
Highland costume, and Jeanne, a pretty little lady 
always in white. He would take them out for a 
walk, would show them the beauties of Nature, teach 
them the names of the trees, flowers and birds, while 
they taught him — " I'art d'etre grand-pere." 

Across the bridge the street of old houses begins 
to rise towards the castle height. About half-way 
up is the " place," in the south-east corner of which 
stands the Chapelle de la Sodality, erected in 1761 
by the Brotherhood of the Holy Virgin, and opposite 
it is the parish church, one of the most interesting 
in this region. It dates from 1248, and is a fine 
building in Gothic style. The high altar is a magni- 
ficent piece of work, and so are the choir stalls. 
More remarkable than these, however, not on account 
of art but of interest and age, is the old altar from 
the castle chapel, the altar of St. Antoine. It rests 
against the wall near the pulpit. The lower part 
of the altar, the table, is not here, however, but im 
the Chapelle du Bildchen, which we are on our way 
to see. 

In the church a curious monument is to be seen 
at the entrance to the choir. It has this inscription 
in Gothic lettering : — 

L'an du Seigneur 
mil at quatre cents, 

le jour des onze 
mille vierges ' mourut 

" October 21st. 


noble dame, Madame 

Marie, comtesse de 

Spanheim et de Vianden, 

dame de Grimbergue. 

Que son ime repose 

en paix. Amen. 

The monument, at the foot of which this inscrip- 
tion is, almost literally, repeated has upon it a life- 
size representation of the Countess, at whose feet 
lies a greyhound. It recalls one of the many stories 
of the past which abound in and about Vianden. The 
Countess's father was Count Godefroid III of 
Vianden. On the death of his wife he, with a number 
of his retainers, joined one of the Crusades to the 
Holy Land. Before his departure he arranged with 
a certain Chevalier to look after his possessions and 
to see that no harm befell his two daughters. The 
Count died while away on the Crusade, and the 
Chevalier, as was to be expected, set about making 
plans to possess himself of the Vianden realm. Soi 
that he might have some pretext for the usurpation, 
he requested the hand of Marie. The young lady, 
already the fiancee of Count Simon de Spanheim', 
refused. The Chevalier promptly followed the re- 
fusal by shutting Marie up in one of the underground 
cells, where he determined to starve her into sub- 

The faithful greyhound noticed the prolonged 
absence of its mistress, and after a long hunt 
discovered her prison. The story goes that, un- 
known to any one, the animal carried food to her 
every day. This went on for some time, and then 


the Count Simon became alarmed at the absence 
of news from his fiancee. So he rode to Vianden 
Castle, but could not solve the mystery of Marie'is 
disappearance. He was about to depart, when he 
heard the plaintive moaning of the dogf. He searched 
for it, and, when he found it, the animal appeared 
to wish him to follow. He did so, soon discovered 
his sweetheart's prison, and released her. It follows 
naturally that Count and Chevalier met in a duel, 
and the story is rounded off jn finished and most 
approved style by the fact that the villain of the 
piece was the man that died. 

As you leave or enter the church you will see a 
curious inscription above the door, which, for a while, 
will cause the Latin scholar to doubt the profundity 
of his knowledge of that language. It spreads itself 
over three stones thus : — ■ 


It is an excellent puzzle, and it was the builder who 
is responsible. To save you trouble, here is the 
solution. Put the right-hand stone in the middle, 
and you get the Latin which the Trinitarian founders 
meant should be there : — 

Ecce Viandani ponunt haec ostia cives 
Haecque uni ac trino sit sacra porta Deo.' 

Leaving the church, we pass the market-place with 
its Cross of Justice — a recent imitation of the four- 

' " Behold ! the people of Vianden raise up these doors. And 
so may this door be sacred to the Trinity in Unity ! " 


teenth -century cross razed by the Belgians when they 
occupied the country about a century ago— and up 
the winding street with its age-old houses and curious 
little shops, till we reach the road which leads up 
into the castle. 

" Pour moi," Victor Hugo has said, " il y a deux 
fagons de voir une ville que se compl^tent I'une 
par I'autre ; en detail d'abord, rue k rue et maison 
k maison ; en masse ensuite, du haut de clochers, 
De cette mani^re on a dans I'esprit la face et le 
profile de la ville." 

Every town of any importance in Luxembourg 
can be seen after Victor Hugo's two fashions, but 
scarcely any other better than Vianden. Its one long 
street leads the visitor past all its interesting spots 
and up to the castle itself, where is told 

A tale . . . 

Of castle walls thrown down and shattered towers. 

The remains of this vast feudal seat lie on a great 
" mamelon " at the town's northern end. It is noit 
difficult to see that at the height of its glory it must 
have been one of the most formidable, if not the 
most formidable, of the fortresses between the North 
Sea and Luxembourg. But it was not only a powerful 
fortress. Architecturally, no building of its kind and 
time could compare with it ; the sumptuousness of 
its rooms and halls, too, made it a palace for the 
lords of Vianden. 

Do not blame the weather for all the dainage 
which has been done to it. Man has left his destroy- 
ing mark as well. In 1820 the castle was sold to 


one Wenceslas Coster, of Vianden, for 6,772 francs, 
49 centimes (about £272). A magnificent bargain I 
But, alas ! Coster knew nothing of history ; he was 
ignorant of the glory of the castle which he had 
bought for the price of a cottage. What the vandals 
of the Revolution did elsewhere but omitted to do at 
Vianden, Coster set about. The roofs of lead, the 
woodwork, such as doors, panels, wainscots and beams 
— all of oak — and the ironwork were the finest of 
their kind in the country ; perhaps it would have 
been difficult to have matched them anywhere in 
Europe. That did not protect them, for Coster 
stripped the castle of them and sold them for over 
40,000 francs, thus making a profit of something 
like 600 per cent. 1 

It was not until 1841 that William II, King of 
the Netherlands and Grand Duke of Luxembourg, 
acquired the ruin, but for many long years no work 
of restoration was taken in hand. It is only com- 
paratively recently that anything has been done, and 
at the present time the work proceeds slowly. It 
is, however, being carried out with skill and taste. 
It is not necessary, I think, to describe every roomi 
in detail ; it is best to wander through the castle, 
bringing up before the mind's eye the strange, courtly, 
life, often stooping into sheerest barbarism, which 
was once lived in these magnificent halls. The first 
room which the visitor enters is the Waffenhalle, or 
Salle des Gardes, with its fine pillars and pilastered 
walls. Through a doorway on the left is a smaller 
apartment, leading to the underground rooms beneath 
the chapel. One of these is said to have been the 


prison in which one of the Countesses of Vianden, 
the Countess Margaret, imprisoned her daughter, 
Yolande, who wished to take the veil rather than 
agree to the marriage which had been arranged for 
her. Yolande, it is said, escaped by means of a rope 
made of her bedclothes, and entered the Abbey of 
Marienthal,' her mother in the end giving way when 
she saw how determined her daughter was. La 
Sainte Yolande eventually became abbess, and to 
that gloriously placed retreat by the Eisch River the 
Countess Margaret came to pass the evening of her; 

Above the Salle des Gardes is the spacious apart- 
ment called the Salle Byzantine, notable for its three- 
cusped and semicircular windows, which have been 
well preserved. Great damage, however, was done 
to the magnificent room during the winter of 1891, 
when the greater part of a high wall came crashing 
down into it. To the right of the Salle des Gardes 
is the great Salle des Chevaliers. It is about 
100 feet long and more than 30 broad, a huge hall 
for the good old times, the roof of which would 
often ring with song and merriment. It would most 
likely be used for banquets and for councils of the 
count and his men-at-arms when war was being 
waged. Open now to the sky, the visitor can mark on 
the highest wall the four floors above this lordly apart- 
ment. In the dining-hall, another large " pi^ce," a 
beautiful Gothic hearth remains high up in one of 
the walls. It belonged to the great banqueting-hall, 
and upon it can still be seen the sculptured coat of 
' See Chapter VII. 


arms of the House of Nassau, three roses and 
two little symbolic figures, each holding a glass in 
hand and one of them leaning on a pitcher. 

Through narrow subterranean passages, into under- 
ground chambers, haunted by the ghosts of long 
ago, one wanders through this interesting chaos. 
At one spot is a deep well, where, in times of 
siege, a savage dog guarded the castle treasure ; at 
the south-eastern end is the peaceful little chapel, 
beautifully restored, and rising at the other extremity 
is the White Tower. On its height stood the de- 
fenders of the castle in its warlike days, raining 
down their missiles on the attacking foe. The bottom 
part was a prison, and here too is to be seen the 
H^xelach, or Sorcerers' Hole, where those who prac- 
tised Black Magic were imprisoned. In front of 
the castle, and looking down the valley, stands the 
Hockelstur on a jagged rock. Long ago it formed 
part of the defences of the town and stood guard 
above the lower part, heralding the approach of the 
enemy or the outbreak of fire. 

The castle is a majestic ruin, and at no time does 
the charm of its chaos appear so ruggedly beautiful 
as in the evening light, when 

The castle, menacing as austere, 
Looms through the lingering last of day. 

If you like, if you are fond of things eerie, stay 
till darkness falls— having' duly achieved good terms 
with the keeper — and then roam where feudal g'hosts 
must surely wander. And in the heart of this ruin, 
in the gloomy silence, you will hear something like 


the rattling of little stones together ; they will clatter 
for half a second a little more loudly ; then " tick, 
tick, tick." At least so the people say, and it's poor 
work contradicting the people. 

Long ago, the sire of Falkenstein was in the habit 
of visiting the lord of Vianden, and when all the 
others had retired to rest the two chieftains would 
play dice. One night the play got very exciting ; 
for hours success favoured one and then the other 
with extraordinary regularity. The noble pla,yers 
became excited. " May the devil take the soul of 
him who first stops play ! " shouted Falkenstein's 
lord. " So be it ! " replied his opponent. No sooner 
were the words uttered than there appeared, in the 
appropriate manner of the time, his satanic majesty, 
who was evidently much too common a character in 
the local incidents of the period. " Faites vos jeux, 
messieurs ! " he said. " J 'attends ! " And the play 
went on. Alternately through the ages the two 
seigneurs win and lose ; still the devil waits the 
promised soul. The beards of the two players have 
grown down into the earthen floor. Rattle, clatter, 
tick, tick, tick go the dice. Noble knights, having 
pledged their word, cannot leave the table. The 
devil, being little or nothing of a sportsman and 
having no admiration for endurance, waits. And 
he ought to know! from his experience of the wo;rld 
that, dealing With the two feudal lords and two 
noble oaths, he will wait for ever. My lord of 
Falkenstein early in the g'ame, the local story goes, 
lost all his money and possessions, for a native 
song has it that — 


Le sire de Falkenstein a perdu tout son argent, 
II a perdu mille thalers en une nuit. 

But doubtless his sporting' opponent obliges him with 
loans, and let us hope his luck has turned now and 

It must have been the same personag*© who, in a 
house still pointed out, rocked babies to death. 
Eleven children were killed in this way, and the 
twelfth was saved and the evil spirit defeated by- 
substituting a cradle which would not rock but was 
fixed to the floor. 

If you wish to hear another story of the same 
individual, wander up the river — with your fishing- 
rod, of course — till you stand above the little village 
of Bivels, on a little height of land which sends 
the Our on a long roundabout way. Bivels is a 
curious and repulsive little village. It would seem 
as though at one time it stood on the height and 
then had rolled down in disorder towards the river. 
It is the most confused village I have ever seen, 
and the dirtiest — a black smudge in a beautiful 
g'arden. How people live in what are not a whit 
better than pigsties is a marvel. It is as though 
some evil spell were upon the place and that that 
made cleanliness and order impossible. It has a 
counterpart in Bauler, another village across the river 
in Prussia — a collection of miserable hovels. 

Across the river — there is no Prussian functionary 
at the bridge to question the arrival in the Father- 
land — a path skirts the stream and then climbs up 
into the mountains to Falkenstein Castle — Fowken- 
schtein is the local pronunciation, and the name is 


met in history, variously as Falconispetrae, Falcon- 
ispetre and Falconspierre. Distance certainly lends 
a good deal of enchantment to this rough rock of 
the Falcon Knights. Climb it, and it shows itself 
in its true, rugged nature. Trees, shrubs and jagged 
rocks are jumbled together, and the castle itself, 
in the last extremity of ruin, out of which a couple 
of towers rise, is all that remains. And far around on 
all sides forests and hills spread, till the eye, having 
ranged over all this ruggedness, rests on the soft 
down of distance. 

And now let me tell you the other story about 
the devil. About the time of the Norman Conquest 
Falkenstein was held by a great and powerful lord. 
He had one daughter, a beautiful girl of eighteen, 
Euphrosine by name. This young lady was be- 
trothed to Conon, seigneur of Bilbourg, rich, power- 
ful, brave, one of the most highly esteemed knights 
of the time. This happy event, signifying the coming 
union of two great families, was celebrated by days 
of festivities. One day, during a hunt, Euphrosine 
got separated from the rest of the party, and her 
horse took fright. Onward it dashed, until the young 
rider noticed that it was heading straight for a 
precipice. Just as she had given up her efforts to 
stop the wild animal, a horseman appeared, and, 
dashing alongside the runaway, was able to bring 
it to a halt just a few yards from the abyss. 

Euphrosine turned to thank her deliverer, and she 
saw a young and handsome chevalier, who conducted 
her to the drawbridge of the castle. The young 
lady invited him to enter, but he refused, announcing 


that he was Count Robert of Stolzembourg. Between 
the houses of Falkenstein and Stolzembourg a deadly 
enmity existed. Years before, Euphrosine's grand- 
father had taken Stolzembourg by assault, carried 
the count off to Falkenstein and put him to death 
by hanging. Since then war without truce or mercy 
had been waged — which is historically true. 

There, by the drawbridge, while all the people of 
Falkenstein were still pursuing the wild boar, the 
two, rescuer and rescued, fell in love. Day after 
day they met secretly in the woods, and Eujphrosine 
made every possible excuse in order to delay her 
wedding with Count Conon. At last the pretexts 
were exhausted and the marriage day approached. 
One night, when the moon was overclouded, a horse- 
man on a black horse climbed up to the castle and 
hid himself near one of the gateways. A little later 
a cloaked figure stole to his side and was lifted in 
front of the rider. Then, just for a moment, the 
clouds parted. Count Conon, who had been unable 
to sleep, was standing' at the window of his 
room. He saw the horse, with its double load, 
stealing away, and guessed what was a-foot. 

In a few moments he had roused his host and 
some retainers, and the pursuit began. The road 
was a terrible one, and progress was slow, but the 
pursuers gained. Count Robert, seeing this, handed 
a dagger to Euphrosine so that she might be able 
to defend herself. A horseman drew level with them, 
and Euphrosine struck him down with her weapon. 
In the darkness she did not notice that it was her 
father. Count Conon abandoned the pursuit in order 


to attend to the fallen man, and the fugitives rode 
on to the river. Here they dismounted and got into 
a boat. It began to move across the swollen flood, 
and Euphrosine turned and sought comfort in her 
lover's arms. She lifted her eyes, and saw that he 
who embraced her was not Count Robert, but — 'the 
devil ! 

" Slayer of your father ! " he hissed. And the 
boat dissolved into mist and, mixing with the waves, 
carried its burden down into the depths. 

At midnight, so they say, on the rough road up 
to the castle the thud of horses' hoofs is still to be 
heard, and the moaning ghost of a young girl, her 
hands sprinkled with blood, goes erringly among 
the trees. 

And wily as well as valorous were the old sires 
of Falkenstein. One of them, of whom history does 
not tell us his name, was once besieged in his castlei 
by a local rival. One day a retainer came to the 
Falcon lord to say that the end of the resources had 
come ; there was but a sack of corn and a single 
bullock left. The seigneur gave the order that the 
bullock should be given the corn to eat, and when 
the animal had made a most hearty meal it was 
killed. The order was given that the entrails should 
be thrown over the castle walls, and at night the 
besieged dined right royally. Next morning an 
attacking party discovered the discarded parts of 
the bullock, and finding that the stomach was full 
of corn the enemy concluded that Falkenstein's 
defender was still far from starvation. They there- 
fore decided to propose peace, and with a great 


though seeming display of supreme indifference as 
to whether peace was concluded or not, the seigneur 
managed so to impress his enemies that the terms 
decided upon were highly favourable to him. 

One delightful summer day I left my angler com- 
panion to fish below Falkenstein's rock while I pushed 
on to Stolzembourg to explore and bring back lunch. 
I climbed up again through B levels and took the 
main road, which quickly descends to the river level 
and runs along the Luxembourg side. A most 
delightful road it is. The river sings through 
fairest meadows, and high on either hand picturesque 
heights rise. Pleasant little children look after the 
cattle — one child per animal — while their elders work 
in the fields at the hay or gather the harvest from 
the heavily laden fruit-trees. The village huddles 
closely under the shelter of the mountain. It is 
clean, and a vast improvement on Bievels. A church 
stands open in a tiny square ; here and there are 
little altars before wliich people come to kneel and 
pray. And no matter before which altar you 
may be accustomed to, kneel, these little open-air 
sanctuaries are places to be passed in reverence ; 
you can feel their presence in the village. 

Beyond the cluster of houses stands the castle, 
not on a proud rock, as its name would suggest, 
though in times of battle its lords could be lordly 
and brave enough, but on a modest height. The 
remains of the walls are blackened by fire, and there 
is not much to suggest the might of the fortress 
in bygone days, the third of the triangle of lordly 
towers which always flashed the morning sun from 


their roofs to one another, and whose holders sq 
often threw defiance at his neighbour. The great 
families have gone with their power to which 
Boufflers gave the " coup de grace," though but 
lately the last of the race of the Falcon lords lived 
in a cottage in the ruins, and a swineherd who, some 
years ago, could be seen by the banks of the Our 
was the final member of the stock which owned the 
Proud Tower. Sic transit! 

Searching for lunch in Stolzerabourg is a sorry 
business. By a small boy, sitting fishing from the 
picturesque bridge en dos d'ine, I was referred in 
the most clipped German to a " Handlu' a' End' d' 
Strass','' and to it I went. But all that was to be 
had there was five small packets of biscuits and 
two of chocolate described as " rein Cacoa und 
Zucker." That was the whole of the edible stock 
in the shop, with the exception of some repiulsiVe- 
looking peppermint lozenges. I acquired the seven 
packets for " neun Groschen," and carried them back 
to the angler who awaited me at the bridge below 
B levels. The chocolate was not a success, and we 
had, therefore, only a Pecksniffian feast — (you 
remember : "Here he took a captain's biscuit"). 

About half -way between B levels and Vianden the 
wanderer looks up to a steep, tree-clad height rising 
from the road. Perched half-way up, a bright, white 
little gem of a chapel stands out clear in the ocean 
of green — " fair as a star when only one is shining 
in the sky." It is reached, this Chapelle du Bildchen 
(or Bildgen)— " the little image " — by a woodland 
path turning off to the right along a little tributary 


of the Our, crossing it and ascending a forest way 
girt thick with bramble -bushes on both sides. Before 
the chapelle is reached the visitor passes a series 
of seven Httle altars, each representing a scene from 
the life of Christ. Then comes a well to the waters 
of which are attributed miraculous powers, especi- 
ally in the healing of eye troubles. And over the 
door of this beautiful little shrine is an eye, together 
with these words : " Profer lumen caecis, mala nostra 
pelle." I Just about a dozen feet square, this tiny 
shrine is difficult to leave. The altar is that which 
wias once in the chapel of Vianden Castle, and above 
it is the Bildchen — " the little image of the 
miraculous Mother " — reverenced far and wide over 
this part of the Duchy. That is all, save a few 
benches, and perhaps a floral offering from a 
troubled pilgrim or a lighted candle burning in the 
gloom. The chapel was built sixty-five years ago, 
arid no holy building is held in greater awe by the 
people. At all times of the year unostentatious 
pilgrimages are made to it. 

The story of the finding of the " little image " is 
a curious one, quite in keeping with the old stories 
and traditions of the neighbourhood. Many years 
ago some boys were gathering wood to make a fire, 
and in an old oak one of them discovered this 
image. He did not notice what it was, and put it 
on the fire. It did not burn, but, becoming ever 
whiter, it dazzled the eye. The boys fled in terror ; 
people and priests came to the spot, but the image 
had disappeared. At last it was discovered in the 

^ "Show forth light to the blind, banish our ills." 


branches of the tree in which it had been found. 
From there it was taken to Vianden church through 
crowds of bowing people. Next morning it was 
found to have disappeared, and soon the news came 
that it was once more in the tree where it had first 
been found. It was taken to the church, and again 
it disappeared. The transfer was repeated again and 
again, until it was decided that it was useless to en- 
deavour to keep it in the church, and that it must 
remain in the branches of the oak. iWlhen the oak 
died it was placed upon a rock, where it stood until 
transferred to the Chapelle du Bildchen. 

And every year, on the Sunday before the Feast 
of the Assumption, the " little imiage " is carried 
from the chapelle to the parish church of Vianden, 
where it is kept until the Sunday after the Octave. 
Coming and going are effected with great ceremony, 
and large crowds of pilgrims follow the image on 
both occasions. 

The wood which stretches from the chapelle 
towards Vianden Castle has always been the haimt 
of spirits and the place of religious ritual. The 
very name it has tells us that. It is Porbretchen. 
Por means the " sacred wood," and Bret is Bert, 
Berthe or Berta, who is goddess of the moon at its 
most brilliajit phases, called elsewhere Freia, the 
mother of mighty Thor. So P6rbretchen is the Little 
Sacred Wood of Berta, the White Lady of the Moon. 
Local tradition has it that the dynasty of Vianden 
was founded by her, so into what mythological shades 
can Kings and Queens of England trace back their 
descent I Long ago the Wliite Lady would appear 



to foretell the death of a member of the house which 
she founded, and even now it is said that you may 
see her by night in the Sacred Wood. She drives 
four moon-white horses harnessed to a chariot of 
cloud, and as she passes she invites the night-wan- 
derer to enter her carriage. And this be for warning. 
If you enter, she whips up her horses ; they rush 
forward till they reach the precipice at the foot of 
which the road lies. Leaving earth, the chariot soars 
into the air and fades into nothingness. Next morn- 
ing you are discovered on the road ; and the good 
folks will call priest and police. 

You cannot turn in this neighbourhood without 
encountering some souvenir of pagan antiquity. A 
little way from the path we are now treading — any 
passer-by will tell you exactly where to find it — is 
a spring called Hidelbour (Hildeborn or Holdabom), 
by the waters of which sacrifices and prayers were 
offered up to Holda, who protected the fields from' 
evil. Walk on to the belvedere, from which a mag- 
nificent stretch of the valley is to be seen. To the 
right of the castle is the height of Noell, but still 
most people know its name of old — Belsberg, which 
means Baldur's Hill, the Hill of the Sun God. And 
that ancient deity is still worshipped in a way. On 
St. Martin's Eve (November loth) you will see the 
young folks of Vianden go out gathering sticks, 
which, with song, they carry to the top of the Sun 
God's height. There a fire is made as night falls, 
and the unwitting little fire-worshippers light torches 
at it and return home by their light, singing the 
while. It is a most curious survival. 


On through the mystic wood the wanderer picks 
his way ; the shadows pour their darkness into the 
vales and the shades creep up to the silver-lined 
mountain-tops. On leaving the wood the castle is 
seen straight in front, an awe-inspiring mass ; the 
semicircle of the town is picked out in the purple 
shadows by a rough curve of scattered lights. 

The wanderer descends through it to the vale which 
has looked so gorgeous from the forest heights, and 
of Monsieur Ensch he inquires when dinner will 
be ready. 


The road winds onward long and white ; 
It curves in mazy coils and crooks 
A beckoning finger down the height; 
It calls me with the voice of brooks 
To thirsty wanderers in the night. 

Arthur Stmqns. 



If you can read history in names it is written most 
clearly for you in the north country of Luxembourg. 
Names mark the boundaries of old, and you can, by 
observing them, note when you pass from a Gallia 
to a Germanic province. Place your finger on the 
map where Our joins Sure — at Wallendorf — and you 
will find " Dorfs " across the country like stepping- 
stones across a stream, in an irregular line as the 
force thrown against them dictated. From Wallen- 
dorf the steps are Reisdorf, Bettendorf, Bastendorf, 
a big jump to Goesdorf, then Arsdorf and Bondorf. 
These were the outposts of the Tr^verians, and 
facing this " Dorf " frontier is a boundary of 
Germanic, Eburonic, " Scheids." From Putscheid, 
greatly daring, it ran south to Bourscheid, but was 
then pushed back to Hoscheid and Alscheid. Along 
that line were the outposts of the Eburones, that. 
German people from beyond the Rhine who eventu- 
ally spread themselves between Rhine and Maas. 
And, curiously enough, when Tr^verians and 
Eburones became only names, the strangely defined 
and pretty accurately marked boundary remained. 


The Church utilized it. The diocese of Liege came 
down to the " Scheid " hne ; that of Treves up to 
the " Dorf " marches. 

So " stepping westward " from Stolzembourg to 
Putscheid you reach an historical frontier as marked 
as that geological boundary noted at Bastendorf., 
You are in the north country, and green, if not so 
clear and bright as in the south, tells you so, 
because it is the colour regnant and it is the colour 
of the north. If you like to take a woodland way 
first in a westerly and then in a southerly direction 
you will pass such places as Nachtmanderscheid, 
Merscheid and Hoscheid, until in Schlindermander- 
scheid the highest point in the philological water- 
shed is reached, and you saunter downstream — the 
Sure — and seek a modest inn at Bourscheid. 

If you come here by train, then Michelau, the 
first station after Ettelbriick, is that at which to 
descend. If you remain in the train you get just 
a glimpse of the castle, and then you are carried into 
the dark heart of the rock on which it stands. In 
fact, the line from Ettelbriick keeps the traveller 
much in the dark. Between that town and Clervaux 
there are, if I remember rightly, no fewer than 
thirteen long tunnels, which is about one for every 
mile. That shows the very mountainous nature of 
the country. It is as chaotic as a northern Scottish 
landscape, but it is painted with a green which can 
only come from Normandy. 

Round Bourscheid is most interesting wander- 
country. The castle looks down on peaceful 
Michelau, about which there is nothing to be said, 


save that it is not the village which grew up there 
because of the guardian castle. It is a recently- 
grown cluster of houses, which sprang up round 
the railway station. In fact, Bourscheid, as far as 
is known, attracted no feudal village to it, for the 
village of the same name was in existence long before 
the castle, and, lying up on the heights far above the 
fortress, has ever proudly boasted that it needed 
no protecting castle. Bourscheid and Brandenbourg 
march together in Luxembourg's history for four 
hundred years after the last Crusade, and to-day 
the former is a ruin much the same in appearance 
as that of the neighbouring fortress. It is a sad 
heap of ruins, with crumbling towers, from the chaos 
of which rise pieces of walls. Here and there a 
slight architectural detail is visible — part of a Re- 
naissance chimney-piece or an arch, a dark dungeon 
or part of a hall. From such must the visitor raise 
in his mind's eye one of the most lordly of Luxem- 
bourg's feudal strongholds. Alas I it had its Coster — 
a man of the name of Schmittbourg, appropriately 
enough, who sold everything saleable. Conspiiez sa 
me moire! 

But there was something which the vandal could 
not destroy — the glorious surroundings in which the 
fine old ruins lie. Round Michelau spread fruitful 
orchards, and vineyards are to be seen far and wide. 
The Sure, maker of frontiers on east and west, flows 
past in silvery circlings. Hills, tree and verdure- 
clad, are thrown all around ; the deep valleys of 
darker green are a delight to see. The road winds 
up the height by rock and fir, w'hile at the wanderer's 


feet flowers are spread with freest largess. The 
air is subtly perfumed with their breath. Song of 
birds and the faint chimes from church towers 
sweeten the air, and there you have the ideal land- 
scape of lovely Luxembourg. If knights of Bour- 
scheid were bold and proud of their rocky fortress, 
then the fair ladies who called it home and who had 
leisure to look upon the scene and love it should have 
been poets. In its effect it is like the restfulness 
of a Qathedral ; it soothes and calms one who comes 
from lands where has been almost lost and forgotten 
that custom of lifting our eyes to the hills and of 
building our venerable places upon the heights. 

Do you doubt it? Then ask the qastle-keeper 
for the ancient tome in which are the names of so 
many of those who have visited the ruin arid quaint 
records of the doings of those who lived before the 
castle was a ruin, and you will find on one of thq 
pages the signature of Victor Hugo, placed there on 
August 22, 1870. Between name and date is the 
quotation : " To be or not to be." So the calming, 
thought-forcing grandeur of the place struck him 
and lifted up his thoughts. And if you put your 
name in the volume you will find that it will be no 
unthinking tourist's tawdry tag of thought that you 
will place beside it. Truly, " tout paysage est un 
6tat d'ime." 

How countries, too, are linked up by stray names ! 
One summer day when I had arranged to stay the 
night at Michelau I strolled westwards across the 
hills and reached a main road at a tiny village 
called Kehmen. The name may be only the French 


" chemin " disguised by age, but more likely the 
Saxon wanderer left his " kam " or " kaim " here, 
seeing in the height an irregularity of outline which 
suggested to him a cock's comb — or " kaim," as 
they still pronounce the word in Scotland. Or it 
may have something to do with a camp ; but at any 
rate it was curiously pleasant to meet this old friend, 
recalling the joyous Border road, one of the earliest 
in remembrance, where are the " Kaimends." 

Curving north-west from Michelau the railway and 
the river cross and regross in a piece of real High- 
land country-side. At quiet little Kautenbach the 
line divides, one line running due north and the other 
twisting its way westward among the ever-growing 
hills. iWiltz is our Ultima Thule. Here is in a name 
yet another link with Saxon times and the Homeland. 
In fact, if you draw a belt, broad as from Ettelbriick 
to Diekirch and curving round along Sure and Wiltz, 
you cover a country which is more clearly related 
to our own than any other, with the probable excep- 
tion of that of which it is said : — 

Butter, bread and green cheese 

Is good English and eke good Friese." 

At times you will in this belt hear a phrase which 
you will understand not because it is French or 
something like German, but because it will strike 
you as curious old English or Scotch. And how 
came this part of the country to have such an 

' Boeytter, Brea in griene Tzis, 
Iz goed Ingelsch in eack goed Friesch. 

(Old Friesic saying.) 


English flavour? Well, there are two reasons for 
this curious state of affairs. As I have pointed out, 
the Saxon element is extremely strong here. Charle- 
magne had mighty trouble with the Saxons, warring 
against them from 772 until 804, and in his 
endeavours to make them submit to his rule he 
banished some of them in wholesale fashion. And 
the place of their exile was mainly this belt jof 
Luxembourg country. Some time before this Willi- 
brord, saint and Englishman, had lighted here the 
candle of his faith, and among the Saxon new-comers 
the missionaries preached their gospel. To these 
two points might be added the fact that the Norman 
too came into touch with this region. 

So it is that we have what might be termed an 
"English belt" in the Grand Duchy, and it is at 
the extremities of it that the relationship is most 
evident. In Ettelbriick, Diekirch and Echternach 
they will tell you that Gilsdorf is as much English 
as Luxembourgian . And in that village, and indeed 
in the surrounding country too, you will hear a 
strange tongue, some of which any one from this 
country will be able to understand but unable to 
reply to ! It is somewhat like listening to Gaelic if 
you know French by ear and not by tongue. So 
much for one end of the belt. 

At the other end the state of affairs is much the 
same. The patois of the people has a fairly strong 
likeness to English. I have heard phrases which 
would not have astonished me if I had come across 
them in the West-country. Wiltz has itself a familiar 
ring. It is met with a number of times in the 


neighbourhood, as in Wilwerwiltz, Niederwiltz, and 
most Hkely it has only become a little misshapen in 
Winseler and Wilwerding. It was brought here by 
a tribe from Pomerania, who came with the Saxons, 
who were called the Wiltzes and who gave our Wilt- 
shire its name. So as we wander in this part of the 
Duchy we must feel very much " at home " ! 

iWiltz lies on the northern side of the broad water- 
shed between Wiltz and Sure. Industry has made 
the place grow, but the original Wiltz upon its height 
keeps sternly aloof from industrialism. With its 
coming and that of the railway, Niederwiltz, a dirty 
duplication of the village, sprang up at the foot 
of the slope and busied itself with tanneries and 
cloth mills. Then success necessitated more room, 
and the faubourg of Weidingen came into being'. 
Cloth-making, however, did not succeed, and the 
triune town has suffered a decline. 

The high town preserves all its old characteristics 
— old houses and narrow, rough streets. Don't pass 
through it without lunching or dining. At the chief 
hotel in the place cuisine is a high art, and practised 
with a skill which would win praise in Paris. And 
you must also stay to look at the castle, standing at 
the end of a huge jutting rock — an ideal position. 
From the tenth century until the seventeenth a feudal 
manor looked dowoi upon the valley. The present 
building has retained the fine square tower of the 
old. It is entered by a bridge across a wide fosse, 
and the great court and the charming fagades are its 
notable features. Part of the building is still in- 
habited. Famous, too, was the old Wiltz family. 


At the battle of .Woeringen one of the Wiltz lords 
performed feats of great valour. The battle, a very 
sanguinary one, was fought for the possession of the 
Duchy of Limbourg by two claimants, both of whom 
had bought the country ! Henry VI of Luxembourg 
went into the fray, with three brothers, Wautier de 
iWiltz and something like 20,000 men ; John I, 
Duke of Brabant, had a force only slightly smaller. 
The leaders fought three indecisive hand-to-hand 
encounters during the course of the battle, and during 
one of them Wautier de Wiltz wounded John in the 
arm and killed his horse under him. In the fourth 
encounter Henry, attacking John with all his might, 
failed to parry another knight's thrust, and, stabbed, 
fell, and was mangled by horses' hoofs. His three 
brothers were slain too before the fight was over, 
the Duke triumphing in the end. But so struck was 
John with the heroism of the House of Luxeimbburg. 
that he concluded a favourable peace, and followed 
it up immediately by giving his daughter, most 
handsomely provided for, to the son of the dead 
Count of Luxembourg. 

As you climb out of the town you will pass a 
street fountain which has a fine old Renaissance: 
statue of, probably, one of the lesser saints. It is 
a quaint piece of work ; but familiarity has bred 
forgetfulness in the people who see it every day, and 
none of them could tell me which saijit was repre- 
sented. I hand on the puzzle to some one else, and 
present therewith to all whom it may concern a 
picture of the Unknown. 

Up through narrow streets you climb, until, clear 





of the town, a twisting, gently rising, excellent read 
brings you to the height of land overlooking Wiltz, 
turning towards you a long crescent behind which 
the castle stands out. Your Wiltzite has an artistic 
eye and mind. Look down on the town and the 
cottages that lie here and there on its outskirts. 
They are painted in delicate shades of blue, rose 
and yellow. Wiltz 's sense of the artistic would be 
outraged if, behind a garden of beautiful flowers 
and bushes, a soiled, dirty house wall appeared. So 
when he tends his garden in the springtime, arranging 
in his mind's eye his summer's picture, the Wiltzite 
gets ready his background. The result i.s that upper 
Wiltz in summer is a triumph of blended colours. 

Wandering even in the most leisurely fashion in 
Luxembourg, small though it be, the visitor is com- 
pelled to miss something. But I would advise him 
not to miss that five-mile wander from Wiltz to 
Esch-sur-la-Sure — Esch-le-trou. The road is an ex- 
cellent one ; the scenery is the pick of the Osling. 
Half-way, Biiderscheid is reached, a miserable little 
village with its mean, thro wn-down -anyhow cottages 
lavishly adorned with advertisements for pneumatic 
tyres, chocolate and French newspapers. About 
three miles farther on you will notice the telegraph 
and telephone wires run into the rock. Look closer 
and you find a great entrance as though into a cave. 
Here is Luxembourg's fairy-tale adventure. 

Once upon a time there was a strong fortress, 
owned by powerful lords, which but few people had 
seen. It was called Esch, but so difficult was it 
to reach that people almost regarded it as a name 


and nothing more. True, people came over the 
mountains, past the eagles' nests, or down the narrow, 
twisting gorge of the river, where the wild boar hid, 
and said they had been there. And their story was 
such a delightful one of a great, towering castle in 
a beautiful valley that it sounded like a real fairy 
story. And now and then thpre were rumours of 
knightly armies marchingi to it and from it. Some 
of the Crusaders who passed southward through the 
country said they came from Esch and were regarded 
as wonderful personages. One night a beautiful lady, 
accompanied by her little son, knocked at the door 
of the Abbey of Marienthal and asked for refuge. 
She said that there had been a revolt of the people 
of Esch, and that she had had to flee. Such were 
the things which the outside world heard of this 
strange Esch, lyingl in its fairy-guarded nook beyond 
the high mountains, across which were no roads 
save the twisting, rough gOat -tracks. 

There are some people who cannot let a fairy 
tale alone, who want to know what happens after 
the tale is told ; and so it was in the case of 
Esch. Just imagine any one boring a hole through 
the Looking-glass to find out if Wonderland really 
exists ! That is what was done in this instance. 
They couldn't believe that Esch existed ; it was 
too much trouble to go exploring by the goat-tracks 
or by wading up the river. So (in the prosaic year 
of 1850) they bored a hole through a mountain and 
let the world into Esch. And they foimd a fairy- 
land, of course. It was discovered that set down 
in the midst of a beautiful Valley of Peace was a 


bold, bad baron's castle, which looked as though it 
had been designed by Dante and built by Thor. 
So it is well to believe fairy stories ! 

The hole bored in 1850 is that into which you 
see the wires disappear as you wander down the 
Sure tributary from Biiderscheid. High on the right 
rises the rampart of rock which, on this side, shuts 
Esch out from the world. Walk through the 
120 feet of this tunnel, left rough from the 
chisels of those who cut their way through, 
making the first tunnel in the country, and an 
extraordinary sight meets the gaze. What a change 
from the peaceful forest landscape you have come 
from ! The road clings to the other side of the 
rampart, and deep below it the Sure throws upward 
its music of welcome to this little -frequented valley. 
Far up, a little windmill waves a greeting to the new- 
comer. Esch has a distinctly marked horizon of 
wooded mountain -tops, which delays the sun and 
sends the dark early. It is a panorama which makes 
you stand still and wonder and appreciate. It looks 
a Valley of Peace indeed, with nothing to disturb 
the Sure's Schlummerlied. Look closer, and what 
flowers are spread about ,• listen, and summer winds 
and birds attune their music to the river's song. 
Lime-tree, fir and pine and birch add to the beauty 
of the scene. And you thank those who made the 
tunnel, so that you might come out of its deep grey 
twilight to stand before this perfect picture. It is 
the masterpiece of Osling. 

The road winds up the valley for a goo.d kilo- 
metre, and during the walk Esch comes into view. 



A double rock towers upwards, high and black, each 
height capped by a tower. The village, huddled 
between rock base and river, curves round the 
" massif," and, with the river, hides itself from view 
beyond it. At another point on the height a huge 
guardian statue of the Holy Mother stands. Past 
tiny well-kept gardens and fruitful little orchards, 
and the bridge is reached. Look at the little open 
chapel on the left and you will see St. Jpjin 
Nepomuk again — life-size. They will tell you that 
the statue was brought into the place by an Austrian 
general in 1550. Certainly it was a curious thing 
to carry about. 

Turn the letter U upside down and you have, in 
little, the twist of the river at Esch. The double 
" mamelon " occupies nearly all the space between 
the sides. On the right the village runs up the 
castle rock, and then, descending ag'ain, it spreads 
along at the foot of the rock on the left. On both 
sides a bridge crosses the river, the older being 
the higher up of the two and having been built in 
1798. To reach the castle ruin the way to take is 
up the Obergasse, twisting, steep and rough, past 
the 1737 parish church, where your guide will show 
you poor little pieces of sculpture which he dignifies 
with the description of Renaissance and an old paint- 
ing — how old no one seems to know — of the Last 

Soon the " gasse " deg'enerates into a rocky, 
narrow pathway, and by it the ruins are reached, 
spread out along the double Gemeindeberg". The 
only thing new and fresh is the little chapel, built 


on the site of the old and completed in 1906, a 
very excellent little piece of work. They tell you 
a curious story — and they have many to relate in 
this fairyland — of the original chapel. Whenever 
a member of the lordly house was ill, at the moment 
the watcher on the castle towers heralded the hour 
of midnight the chapel would be seen to be brilliantly 
lighted up and the grim form of an old priest would 
be seen at the high altar celebrating* Mass. 

And what a frightfully sombre, Dor6sque ruin is 
that of Esch Castle ! It is in the last stages ojf 
decay, and no hand has been raised to prevent the 
fall of a single stone. In fact, the youth of thq 
village seem, as I saw, to take a delight in adding! 
to the devastation. Only the poorest remains of 
the walls are left to enable the visitor of to-day to 
form an idea of the size and strength of the wonder- 
fully placed fortress. At the end of this part of 
the rock stands a square tower, crumbling befora 
the winds and rain. Heaps of debris lie all around, 
some covered with grass. Behind it is the " Backes " 
Tower, so called because it had in it, and it still 
has the remains of, the castle ovens. Until about a 
quarter of a century ago the castle was inhabited, 
but not by descendants of the lords and ladies of 
other days — for the Esch race was a short-lived one— 
and of the troubadours. No, there lived the poorest 
of the poor, outca,sts who had nowhere else to go ; 
there they lived rent free for many years, until the 
State took the castle over and expelled them. Even 
now you can see in the square tower some old boards 
used to make the interior just a little comfortable. 


and a tiny terrace was evidently utilized as a garden, 
for still, run wild, there are the plants cultivated 
by those poverty-stricken people. 

The seigneurs of Esch were valiant knights. The 
first went with the first Crusade, and was one of the 
most heroic figures of that great adventure. He 
was Henry of Esch, and with him he took his son 
Godfrey. The Esch nobles, though brave fighters, 
do not appear to have been very good rulers, or 
else the people were a difficult lot to manage. The 
castle sway once extended as far as to the junction 
of Sure and Our on the one side and almost as far 
on the other. But early in the seventeenth century 
the line ended ; the domain was broken up, and it 
passed into the hands of others. In 1759 the Baron 
de iWarsberg, mardchal de camp in the Austrian 
Army, bought the place, and he it probably was who 
brought the statue of St. John Nepomuk into the 

When he disposed of the fortress it fell into th)e 
hands of one of that class of vandals who have left 
their marks on Bourscheid and Vianden. The irt- 
famous one was a man of Arlon named Walhausen, 
and he carried away tons of the castle walls and 
sold the stones as building material. Then a notary, 
Vannerus by name, took possession, and as he acted 
for Schmittbourg at Bourscheid we may be sure he 
did not regard the historic building, or what was left 
of it, with any degree of reverence. And now Time, 
slowly but so surely, plays the vandal's part, and man 
appears to have given up the task of preservation. 

Higher up, on the other peak, is the Oost Thurm, 


a round, lofty tower standing sentinel over castle and 
village, reached by a stairway cut in the rock. Near 
it stands the Mariensaule I have mentioned, girt 
about with wires so that it may be lit up with electric 
light when occasion demands ! And from the plat- 
form upon which the Cost Thurm stands you gee 
the lovely Valley of Peace lying, a perfect picture, 
beneath you — the river running to right and left, 
biting far into the narrow neck of land on either 
side, the village thrown round the castle ruin, the 
curious, small houses, gardens and trees, and, beyond,, 
the mountains all around rising and recedingi into 
bluish-green haze. Little wonder that Victor Hug'o 
called this peaceful vale " the pearl of the north 
country " and that it stirred the soul of Liszt. 

If you go a-wandering with me, you must not be 
afraid to be abroad at nights. So let us sup at 
the charming little Hotel des Ardennes and then 
circle the town until we reach the old bridge. In 
the dim twilight see how the stern castle rock catches 
the last glints of light from the western sky I How 
opalescent patches of it gleam amidst its g'loomy 
shadows as though some mystic pearl went to its 
making ! Now and then a home-soaring; night-bird 
will awaken Echo's deep octaves up on the now 
lonely, grisly height. 

On the rock face an inscription will catch the eye. 
It is this pitiful record : — 

1817 + 
Armes Jahr. 
Ach, Gott, errette All in Hungersnoth, 
Vor Krankheit, Pest, vom galln Tod. 


It is a melancholy supplication of a year when famine 
held Esch and, indeed, all the Grand Duchy in its 
deadly grasp. 

Across the bridge we soon find a way leading up 
a narrow, wild glen, the mountains on either hand 
looking as though some massive force had tried to 
squeeze the valley out of existence. Rocks and 
flowers dispute for place in the sun ; in the day- 
time this untended little paradise is the haunt of- 
lizard and butterfly and bird. Up the hill and 
through the forest we go, and from a wide plateau 
look down upon the Peaceful Valley, being curtained 
ever more thickly by descending night. A peasant 
passes. Give him something to smoke and let him' 
tell a story. 

You note the few solitary oaks standing round 
about? Well, they are the sole survivors of a magni- 
ficent forest, in the midst of which, on the very spot 
where we are sitting, rose a fine hunting-box, where 
the lords of Esch held revel and from which they 
sallied forth in pursuit of the wild boar. One day 
a fatality occurred amongst the seigtieur's guests : 
one of his relatives was found dead near the little 
castle. So the count used the chateau no more, and 
made a gift of it to an order of monks. The hunt- 
ing-horn never again sounded in the forest ; the 
cloister-bell took its place. Some time after, when 
the monks were assembled at midnight Ma;ss, the 
monastery burst into flame, the fire having been 
kindled, it is said, by some unholy hand. 

The terror-stricken monks rushed from the blazing 
home, only to find themselves surrounded by a band 


of evildoers, and one by one they were laid low. 
The fire blazed ever higher and higher. The flames 
climbed up the tower and the waves of heat set 
the bell in motion. When they awoke in the 
morning the people of Esch heard the bell clanging 
loudly, and they climbed up to the cloister. They 
found the dead monks, and buried them where they 
had fallen, and then the funeral knell ceased, down 
fell the scorched walls, covering the burial-place with 
wrack and ruin. Slowly, with the years, the gentle 
Mother Earth covered the spot of the tragedy. And 
if you stay till you hear the midnight chimes carried 
upwards on the still air from the shrouded town in 
the vale, you will also hear the deep, dull tone of 
the cloister-bell and the mournful death-song of the 

The simple people of Luxembourg's country dis- 
tricts are very fond of night noises, and the stojries 
they will tell of them are many. Esch people, by 
the way, have a reputation for good will and common 
sense. A High Court judge in Luxembourg used to 
be in the habit of saying to the quarrelsome people 
who came before him : " Oh, go and try to settle 
it between yourselves ; and if you wish to acquire 
good will and concord, then go to Esch-on-the-Sure." 

Before you leave Esch, ask some one to show you 
the Antoniusbuche. This mighty beech-tree, shading 
the road with its generous foliage, is near the Kreuz- 
kapelle. In its stem a niche has been made to 
contain a statue of St. Antonius, which is about half 
a metre in height. Ask, too, to be told its story, and 
you wdll hear a tale identical with that of the discovery 


and the subsequent repeated disappearances of the 
" little image " in the Chapelle du Bildchen. Until 
about a dozen years ago the anniversary of the find- 
ing of the imag'e was celebrated on May 3rd, wheij 
a great procession of pilgrims went to the tree and 
sang hymns and prayed before it. The festival was 
abandoned, however, though pilgrims still go there 
and drop their offerings in the little box which hangs 
beside the statue. 

Esch suffers from a heavy rainfall. The clouds, 
driven up the surrounding hills, seldom pass with- 
out lightening their burdens. On the last occasion 
1 was there a glorious morning transformed itself 
into a most dismal afternoon. It poured. A smother 
of milk white mists came down from the hills. Should 
I stay in Esch? But I carried nothing apart from 
a kodak. Ettelbriick was fourteen kilometres away ; 
Gobelsmiihle, the nearest railway station, twelve. The 
time-table told of no diligence, no automobile. And 
1 had arranged to be back at Ettelbriick by, at 
latest, early the next morning. I had intended 
to Walk, but that was out of the question in such 
pouring rain. 

1 was on the point of deciding to stay and of 
telephoning to Ettelbriick to cancel my morning 
appointment, when a huge new- looking motor -bus 
panted through the rain and stopped before the hotel. 
Its legend was, " Ettelbriick -Esch-Wiltz." I talked 
to the driver. Was he going to Wiltz? Oh no ; 
this was the return journey ; he was going to 

" But why are you not in the time-table? " 


" Because we only started running the day before 

So things progress. As it was only two days 
since Esch had first seen such a huge automobile, 
all the village came to look, and were iminen^ely 
thrilled by the way the vast vehicle was manoeuvred 
in turning. They were greatly struck, too, by the 
way in which the bus would start backwards or 
forwards without anybody apparently doing anything. 
1 believe they attributed its moving at the right 
time to association of ideas between driver and 
engine. Esch felt itself quite up to date and corre- 
spondingly proud. 

Over the bridge, along the road beside the river, 
through the tunnel, and the automobile began its 
steep, long climb to Heiderscheid. A stiff road it 
is, though the surface is excellent. The mountain 
slopes up on the left and trees border the route on 
the right. Here and there were magnificent avenues 
of firs, but the rule was fruit-trees and — 1 had looked 
long for them in Luxembourg — mountain ash. The 
rowans matched the red road and the leaves seemed 
to reflect its glow. And true to their artistic 
principles, the people who live along this route have 
painted their houses to match ! It makes a de- 
lightful picture, all this red among the green, as I 
saw it, when the setting sun added its share to that 
colour, but especially when rain intercepts the light 
and splits it into those fairy ribbons of all the 

At Heiderscheid Monsieur le Cure came to talk 
and see " the new auto." Was Heiderscheid famed 


for anything in particular? Oh yes, for its weather- 
cock. I looked up at an undistinguished bird, high 
on the mediocre steeple of a church which could 
certainly lay claim to no striking architectural 

" iWell? " I asked the smiling cure. " Not real, 
or of pure gold, or Roman, or one of Caesar's eagles, 
or stolen from the Elysee? " 

" No," replied the cure, as the engines purred 
loudly and we were moving off : " it is merely the 
highest bird of its kind in the Grand Duchy ! " 

And so on down hill by a road which gradually 
paled in colour until Ettelbriick threw grey du,st 
and evening shadows about the lumbering omnibus. 

A delightful " circular tour " is that by which, on 
one occasion, I reached Clervaux. I left the train 
at Wilwerwiltz and took the road, via Hosingen, to 
Dasbourg, a distance of about a dozen kilometres. 
I will admit at once that neither beautiful scenery nor 
a castle took me eastwards, though the first is to 
be enjoyed all along the way and the second exists 
at Dalheim, on the Prussian side of the river — the 
Our. I wished to see the little village of Dahnen 
(another mark of the Danes?) and its people, who 
have a reputation of a curious kind. The road runs 
between beautiful woods, broken up by cultivation 
at intervals, and the height of land is reached at 
Hosingen, which is the chief villag^e of this region. 
It has a good hotel and from a distance looks ex- 
tremely picturesque, being a white cluster of houses 
along the road, with a church rising above thetn. 
It has, too, a very ancient nunnery for daughters of 


noble families. From there the forest way descends 
to the Our. 

Dasbourg rises in tiers on the left bank, and above 
it are the ruins of its castle. This building was 
remarkable for its enormous size, which can still 
be noted to-day. From the ruins a huge square tower 
rises. It was a fortress, " a double enceinte," and 
into the first the houses of the village have pene- 
trated ; the second is a waste of tiebris. The lords 
of Vianden were for a considerable time over-lords 
of Dasbourg, and then the place passed to the 
Nassau-Vianden family, from which sprang the 
princes of Orange-Nassau, of whom the most re- 
nowned was William the Silent. For those who are 
interested in Roman camps there is one up the river 
from Dasbourg, on the right bank, where the stream 
takes a good bite of the Grand Duchy, just as it does 
to the west of Bievels. It will be seen that it was 
a very large camp — it is situated between two ravines 
— and must have been of considerable importancte. 

Our destination for the time being, Dahnen, lies 
three kilometres north of Dasbourg. Dahnen, a tiny, 
quiet little village, has a Gothamite reputation, won 
long ag'o, though in justice it must be said that the 
place does not maintain its ancient fame by indulging 
in gaucheries at this prosaic time of day. Let me 
tell you some of the stories which have given Dahnen 
its curious fame. 

A Dahnen farmer wished to make use of the weed 
which was growing! on the sides of a deep well. 
So he got his cow, tied a rope securely round its neck, 
and lowered it down the well. As the poor animal's 


tongue was forced out by strangiulation, the farmer 
cried : " Ah^ voilk de I'herbe qui sent joliment bon ! 
Notre taureau en est all^chd I " There is a story 
of a Dahnen builder, too, who built a house. When 
it was finished he was greatly puzzled at not being' 
able to get into it. He consulted some of his neig'h- 
bours, who were puzzled too. At last, after long 
pondering, it was discovered that the builder had 
forgotten to make an entrance ! 

The most curious of all, however, is this. At 
one time the people of Dahnen thought that their 
church was too small. They shut themselves into 
the building and endeavoured to push the walls out- 
wards. But nothing' appeared to happen. " Oh," 
declared one of the village's g'reatest wiseacres, " the 
walls have nothing to roll along on ! " There was 
a puzzle. But one local genius rose to the occasion. 
He suggested the laying down of dry peas all along 
the walls outside. (This is no doubt the earliest 
notion of ball-bearings !) So sheets were spread 
close to the outside walls, and dry peas scaitteneld! 
evenly on the top. Into the church again the people 
went, and kept pushing away at the walls with all 
their might and main. JuiSt then a "person of a 
thieving nature came along, and seeing the peas 
spread out on sheets gathered all up and took his 
departure. Meanwhile inside the people kept on 
putting their shoulders to the walls. After a while 
they came out to see how the walls had moved, and 
were astonished to observe that sheets and peas had 
disappeared. Genius Number Two was elated at the 
success of his plan. 


" But," objected one, " the church is not any 

" Of course it is ! " replied the other. " You 
are suffering from an optical delusion. Why, the 
walls have rolled out over sheets and peas ! 

And the people were convinced, and ever after 
were quite content with the dimensions of their 

Naturally you don't hear or tell such stories in 
Dahnen I 

A serpentine path westward for nine kilometres 
brings the traveller to Clervaux (Clerf) ; a dili- 
gence will carry him from one place to the other 
if he lijjes for a franc and a quarter, but he would 
be well advised to walk, throug'h the greenery of 
wide woods, past the purple of ploug^h-lands and 
by yellow acres of corn. How boldly beautiful is 
this heart of O sling, how rugged and yet how royal, 
when all Nature sing's 

A mystic rune 
Foreboding of the fall of summer soon ! 

And when from the road, before it curves and 
descends quickly into the town, the tramping traveller 
beholds Clervaux, it will look, in a way, like another 
Esch-le-trou. Though buttressed mountains, lying 
couchant like wild animals, are thrown around it, 
they have not tried to squeeze it out of existence 
or bar it from intercourse with the outer world. 
High thougih they be, they are far-throMTi, and their 
long' slopes allow men to scale and descend them 
by broad and good roads. Then the river, the Clerf, 


hugs the town just as the Sure does Esch, throwinig 
round three sides of it an arm of argent. The two 
gems of Oshng, though they invite comparison and 
recall each other, are greatly different in style of 
beauty. Esch is like jet ; Clervaux is a gleaming 
opal. So best can the difference between the two 
be set forth. Esch is dark and Dantesque, while 
Clervaux has a fascinating, bright loveliness about it. 

The station is some little way from the town, and 
as you approach the place its friendliness is apparent 
and striking. It is roomier than is generally the 
rule with towns of its size in Luxembourg. Let us 
wander up to the castle, standing upon its eminence 
dominating the chief street. 

Some of the castles in the Grand Duchy are in 
a bad state, but none is in a worse one than that 
of Clervaux, and few were so well worth preserving. 
In its building — and this can, perhaps, only be said 
of one other castle in Luxembourg — art was not 
wholly lost sight of. It looks, even now, after the 
infamous treatment it has met with, lighter, more 
artistic and tasteful than is usual with such build- 
ings. In the sixteenth century the old feudal fortress 
was replaced by the structure standing in such 
lamentable ruin to-day. Its seigneurs were a noble 
race, and it was to one of them that King Francis I, 
on being taken prisoner at Pavia, handed over his 
sword. The original Clervaux lords came to the 
end of their line before the castle we see to-day 
was built. In the fourteenth century, when one 
of the barons died he left as heir his only daughter, 
who married one of the Brandenbourg family. But 


that line quickly came to an end too, and the castle 
and its wide domains became the possession of the 
family d'Eltz. Again lordship was only a brief glory, 
and again it soon passed to another lordly caste — the 
Counts of Lannoy, one of whom was the Pavia 
warrior. At present the owner is the Count de 

Apart from admiration for the fine architecture, 
disguised by ruin though it be, one's feelings pn 
visiting the castle can only be those of anger. At 
the entrance to the courtyard and in the courtyar^d 
itself — with a little care how noble both of these 
might be ! — you see the first evidences of a van- 
dalistic, thoughtless, amazing disregard for one of 
the most precious souvenirs of the past in our Duchy. 
You do not stop to wonder or to ask what room 
this or that was, to imagine to yourself what scenes, 
centuries ago, took place here or there. Your only 
feeling is one of rage. The dancing salon, the hall 
of banquets, bedrooms and the many things of in- 
terest are robbed of all attraction as historic relics 
by the way in which they have been treated. Floors 
have huge holes in them ; the loose boards shajke 
as the visitor walks across them. Heaps of debris lie 
here and there ; strewn about over all is a thick layer 
of dust from outraged walls. Priceless panels and 
magnificent chemin^es have been callously and 
clumsily wrenched from their places. The Empire 
papering on the walls, valuable, crude yet interesting, 
has been ruthlessly stripped away in many instances. 
In the chapel, a sacrilegious ruin, hangs a tattered 
rag. It was the glorious banner of the proud 


Lannoys ! There, too, is the fallen altar ; censer 
and lamp and image he neglected and battered. 
Many an old and valuable picture has been hacked 
by an impious hand ; no care is taken of others — 
pictures of Francis I, Joseph II and Marie Th^rfese 
painted while those historic characters were alive. 
You will see, too. Gobelin tapestries moth-eaten and 
as riddled with holes as the mantle of Bias. In 
one room, a disheartening wreck, lies a great, 
broken bilUard-table. What a glorious place it must 
have been, this now ruined, rat-haunted pile ! 
Luxembourg had few places to equal it in riches 
and taste when one proud and princely family left 
it and another came with the vandal's destroying 

And where have they gone, those treasures of 
the past? Not far away. The concierge's charming 
little daughter, who will most likely show the visitor 
round and who feels so deeply the shame of this 
royal wreck, will point out where they are. No, do 
not blame that arch-wrecker, Boufflers, nor even the 
vandals of the Revolution. For though the latter are 
remembered with curses in Clervaux, both left the 
castle unharmed. Come to the entrance and look 
across the valley to a wide park where there are 
acres of shady trees, beautifully laid-out flower-beds, 
where silvery fountains sing here and there, and in 
the middle stands out a castle tastelessly painted in 
brownish-red, an unpicturesque blur in a fair and 
faultless garden of nature. It is the new chiteau. 
So that it might have treasures the old castle was 
stripped and defiled ; not a few of its lordly walls 


were thrown down that there might be stone enough 
to build this rococo parvenu of dwellings. Mean- 
while, every storm leaves its mark on the historic 
building ; walls, roofs and floors become ever less 
Stable. No effort is made to restore the place or 
put it in that order which common decency and 
ordinary respect would dictate. It is a ghastly 
tragedy, and when you leave it all the beauty and 
charm of Clervaux seems blotted out for a while. 

Once, too, it was possible to inspect the most 
interesting archives, which gave one an insight into 
the life of the past. Here is an interesting extract 
given by one writer • on Luxembourg : " Paye pour 
les frais de m^najge du lo septembre 1782 au 5 
aout 1783, la somme de mille deux cents livres, 5 
escalins, 4 sols et 2 Hards." Living was not, evi- 
dently, a terribly expensive affair in those days ! 

Climb higher up, and we pass a gaudy new church 
on the way to the wood in which stands the great 
new abode of the Benedictines. These two build- 
ings seem to have altered the whole aspect of the 
little town as I knew it first before their coming. It 
is as though two gaudy poppies had sprung up in 
a bed of humbler flowers. They catch the eye in 
a scene the colour of which has not been and cannot 
be keyed up to match their magnificence. I prefer 
the old Clervaux. 

Where the new church stands there originally was 
an old church and a picturesque mill. The edifice 
of to-day is not in keeping with the humbleness ofi 
Clervaux as the two old buildings were. And seeing 

' Jean d'Ardenne. 


that the modem church stands so closely to the 
old castle, one's eyes wander from the new to the 
ancient, back from the garish to the restful. The 
church's style has been given to me as " roman- 
rh^nan " ; in white stone it is, with two high towers, 
and the interior is in keeping with the splendour 
of the outside. .Wander away from it up the hill 
towards the monastery. This great new set of 
buildings is surrounded by a thick wood, and the 
road through it was, when I visited the place last 
year, still rough and unfinished. The monastery is 
inhabited by Benedictines of Solesmes, who emi- 
grated from France in 1901 as the result of the 
Loi sur les Associations. Of their wealth they have 
certainly erected a magnificent abode for themselves. 
All the buildings are in a heavy Roman style, though 
not ladking in a certain elegance and distinction. 
The red tiles of the roof, however, do not add to 
their beauty, being completely out of harmony with 
the colour of the surroundings. With a huge tower, 
as though of an old castle, the monastery appears 
to be modelled on the celebrated abbey at Cluny. 
The buildings are surrounded by vast gardens 
enclosed by a wall ; visitors, if they are male, are 
shown over the place — a most interesting experi- 
ence — but ladies are only admitted to the church, or 
rather to half of it. The cloisters, the refectory, the 
library, the inner court with the tower rising 
massively above are all on a particularly lavish scale. 
Electric light is everywhere ; the old frugality and 
asceticism has not found it difficult or incongruous 
to have recourse to all that is modern and con- 


venient. The church, with its high roofs and heavy, 
arched arcades, has an impressive severity. It is 
adorned by a number of fine triptyches ; there are 
numerous altars ; shining metal gleams everywhere, 
and there is almost a surfeit of varied colours. 
Across the centre stretches a partition beyond which 
no visitor may go. The two monks who showed 
me over the buildings were most kind and affable, 
and we talked on many subjects. Certainly the 
monastery has a most delightful situation, and there 
could be 

No Eastern sage 
More quiet in his forest hermitage. 

Outside the monastery grounds, in what was the 
park of the old castle, stands a pathetic reminder 
of Luxembourg's stormy past and one of her most 
tragic episodes. In a clearing among the trees is 
the monument erected in 1899 to the memory of 
those who fell in the frightful Peasants' .War, or 
Kloeppelkrieg,' a hundred yearjS previously. I have 
referred to the carnival of carnage carried on in 
Luxembourg by the troops of revolutionary France. 
In Osling the bloodthirsty invaders met with a great 
deal of opposition, and found opponents of no mean 
calibre. Heavy taxation roused anger, and when the 
youth of Luxembourg were seized by veritable press- 
gangs to feed the armies of France insurrection broke 
forth in all parts of the country, but chiefly in the 
north. And just as the rebels were most fiery round 
Clervaux they were most successful. At last, how- 

' Club or cudgel (Klopfel). 


ever, they were driven back, and if you stand on the 
southern slopes of the castle and monastery height 
you are on the sppt 'where the braves of 'Osling w^ere 
defeated on the verge of victory. With splendid 
courage they kept the French at bay, but in the end 
force of numbers told, and a sad remnant was driven 
back into the sheltering woods. Those who escaped 
were mostly taken prisoners afterwards, and all over 
the country hundreds were arrested, many on the 
most meagre pretexts. Many were taken off to 
Luxembourg, starved in various prisons for months, 
given a mockery of a trial and slaughtered in the 
ditch at Fort Thiingen. The Clervaux captives were 
butchered where the monastery stands. Tired of 
bloodshed, the inhuman invaders offered some of the 
prisoners their lives at the price of a lie, but the 
monument shows that they preferred and suffered 
death rather than have life with dishonour. 

The memorial consists of a cross with a pedestal 
of granite having two bas-reliefs in bronze portraying 
scenes from the disastrous, dearly paid-for revolt. 
The inscription is : " Aux paysans ardennais et k 
tous les Luxembourgeois que de 1 792-1 799 ont 
souffert la persecution et la mort pour Dieu et la 
Patrie." One of the bas-reliefs shows the prisoners 
in the presence of their judges, and the words with 
which they faced them are immortalized : " ,Wir 
konnen nicht liigen." The other shows the peasant 
warriors on their knees receiving the sacrament. 
The inscription here is : " Es ist besser dass wir 
fallen im Kampfe als dass wir sehen das Ungliick 
jinseres Volkes und Heiligtumes." It is a magnificent 


spot upon which to have raised this memorial to the 
brave. Here where they died their eyes would have 
a sustaining and glorious glance at one of the most 
beautiful parts of their lovely land, for which they 
had not feared to die. From here peaceful valley 
and beautiful height make a perfect picture ; rocks 
and river and roofs mimic the sun. Especially when 
summer has worked all her potent wizardy, or when 

Along the solemn heights 
Fade the autumn's altar-lights, 

when a score of tints dfeck the forests, Clervaux 
deserves every whit her name — "Clear Valley." 

There is little more to take us a-wandering in 
O sling, and I limit myself to recommending one 
excursion to the nature-lover. Let him walk to 
Sassel, about four miles away ; from there a river 
side-path, on the right bank, leads down to where 
the stream — the Trottenbach— joins the Woltz. After 
that the valley becomes closely shut in by mountains ; 
the gorge is picturesque, twisting and is ever reveal- 
ing new charms and bizarreries to the eye. The 
beauty of the valley leads you onward, and even if 
you do forget everything else in that enjoyment you 
will come back to Clervaux, for there is only, one 
way, air too soon. And all too soon on my seconid 
visit it was Southward Ho ! 

I lingered in Ettelbriick for tea, and then went 
unwillingly to catch the south-bourid train. I was 
leaving Luxembourg behind me once again ; I had 
come to 

The path where the road breaks off 

And the milestones end: 


I was going back to the hurry and bustle of a larger 
world, away from the delectable Duchy which, ex- 
plored from end to end, I had found to be all my 
dreams of long ago had made it, when it was merely 
an oddly tinted yet strangely alluring corner of the 
map. All too soon I was back in the spacious 
station of the capital. 

For weeks I had not read a newspaper ; now there 
were on the bookstall heaps of them from Paris and 
Berlin and odd ones from London. I bought a 
bundle, and with that transaction I made an end 
of my wanderings. Columns of print and the Arlon- 
Brussels express dashing through the night were soon 
carrying me back to the restless world. The great 
countries were astir with the making of big history. 
A famous ambassador was dead ; the War-clouds were 
gathering ominously in the Balkans ; the soldiers 
of four kings were ranging for a great struggle. 
Soon the sight of war's desolation was to try to 
blot out my memories of Luxembourg's beauties. 
But happily I can look across scenes, sketched in 
the carbon of battle's blackness and in the livid 
colours of disease, scenes under both warring Cross 
and Crescent, back to the fadeless, enchanting 
pictures of the roads, rivers, heights, valleys, forests 
and castles of a fair Httle land whose warfare is 
accomplished and whose days are peace. 


Travellers must be content. 




There is no country in Europe, I should think, 
which presents better conditions to the wanderer, 
which has made everything easier and more delight- 
ful for him, whether he go afoot or awheel, than. our 
little delectable Duchy. Everywhere the roads are 
excellent, and so closely woven is their network that 
it is impossible to stand at any point in Luj^em- 
bourg and be much more than two miles from a 
good main thoroughfare. I have not, during all 
my wanderings in th;e Grand Duchy, come across a 
bad main road, while, as a rule, the offshoots which 
are likely to tempt the cyclist awheel are but seldom 
inferior as far as surface is concerned. The main 
roads are macadamized, well kept, and there is a 
comparatively small amount of traffic upon them. 

Distances are, of course, not great ; the inns and 
hotels everywhere leave nothing to be desired ; they 
are scrupulously clean, and ^ood cooking is the rule 
throughout the length and breadth of the Grand 
Duchy. Prices in all places are extremely moderate, 
though of course they vary greatly. In the capital 
the visitor may spend his sovereign or thirty shillings 


a day on livingl — if he so chooses ; but it need not 
cost him more than ten francs. At 'Mondorf and 
Echternach, to which tourists crowd in largte numbers, 
hotel bills with stiff figures can easily, be achieved. 
But in the larger places, even, the small and moderate 
hotels are clean and comfortable ; there is a friendlier 
air about them, too, and in them one comes in con- 
tact not with visitors to the country but with the 
people of the Duchy. That is an advantag'e in every 
land. In Luxembourg the native is kind and 
courteous to the traveller who comes to see the little 
Fatherland, and seldom is there a talk which, in 
addition to leaving pleasant memories, is not full 
of good advice. A little inquiry on the spot will 
invariably result in the footsteps of the visitor being 
quickly turned towards an hotel where good service 
will not strain his purse. 

In the country districts the wanderer will often 
wonder if the people have the ghost of an idea of 
the value of money. Here is a bill of mine from 
Berdorf : — 

1 petit dejeuner, 
Half-bottle wine, 

2 cigars, 

3 ten-centime stamps, 
6 postcards, 

and the charge for all was two marks ten pfennige 
— just about two shillings ! The lunch, of four 
courses, was beautifully cooked and served, and the 
price is all the more surprising when the facts are 
taken into consideration that I was unexpected, was 


rather late in the afternoon and that the meal was 
specially prepared for me. But a Luxembourg' cook 
has always a reputation to lose. 

Though there is some shooting' to be had in the 
Grand Duchy, it is scarcely attractive enough to 
tempt any would-be visitor to add a gtin to his 
luggage. In some districts the hotel proprietors com- 
bine to obtain the rights over an adjacent piece of 
sporting country, and they place it, on very moderate 
terms generally, at the disposal of their guests. The 
same is done with parts of rivers, and any one with 
sporting inclinations would do well to consult and 
be advised by " mine host." A " permis de chasse " 
costs fifty francs per annum, but it can be obtained 
for short periods on terms equal to about a franc 
a day. There is a fair quantity of winged game, but 
the quarry par excellence is the sanglier. Between 
Alzette and Schwarze Erenz is his happy hunting- 
ground, and in the thick woods in the railwlay-miade 
triangle of which Fels is the centre he finds a 
secure home. But he must find food, and winter 
sends him farther and farther from safety in search 
of it. It is then that hunters and dogs go in search 
of this fierce wild-pig. They follow up his tracks 
in the snow. 

The local sportsmen are hospitable and friendly to 
a high degree, and any stranger who wishes to take 
part in a wild -boar hunt will be received with open 
arms. A whispered wish will often make the g'arde 
de chasse most pressing in his invitation that the 
visitor should join in the sport. A boar -hunt, how- 
ever, is rather an oificiaJ and highly regulated affair. 


By drawing lots every hunter knows the position he 
must keep throughout the entire chase, if, indeed, 
chase it can be called. Before " the hunt is up !' 
the quarry has been located, and it is generally a 
long and loaded procession which sets out for the 
spot where the porcine prey is reported to be. The 
spot is surrounded, and the dogs are dispatched to 
rouse the animal. As a. rule' the angered pig. does 
not get the chance to go very far before the fatal 
blow descends, as he is pretty well cooped in and 
his opponents are numerous. Occasionally, however, 
he will lead his pursuers a long and tiring dance, 
will make the slayer work hard for that head and 
hide to adorn his dwelling. , 

The chief sport in Luxembourg, however, is fish- 
ing. I ' do not pretend to be an angler save of the 
most casual kind, and the information which I give 
here is, therefore, founded on the experiences of 
my brother and some of my friends who know well 
the streams of the Grand Duchy. Certainly 1 will 
admit that with rod in hand is a pleasant way in 
which to wander through Luxembourg. " If you 
are an angler, certainly take your rod ; if not, still 
take it and learn the gentle art there. Fish' thrbugh 
a country, and you and it will become firm friends ; 
otherwise it will merely be a case of distant acquaint- 
anceship. You want a Wanderlust's divining-rod ; let 
it be your fishing-rod." Such was a friend's favourite 
statement long ago. Angling certainly leads the 
wielder of the rod into some of the most delightful 
parts of the country. j ' 

In the first place a " permis de jeter la ligne " 


is necessary. Any- hotel proprietor will either obtain 
it for his guest or inform him where it may 
be had. It costs three francs, and is good for 
a year. 

My brother sums up his advice thus : " Have 
waders ; get up early; use small flies." The fish 
which abound in the rivers are trout, g'rayling, chub, 
gudgeon, barbel and pike. Anything under seventeen 
centimetres (about six and four-fifth inches) in length, 
must be thrown back into the water. The open 
season is from April ist till October 15th. The 
river Sure, howeyer, is closed for three months, 
from March 25th to June 25th. Roughly, the open 
time, April to October, corresponds to the Luxem- 
bourg season. It embraces the most delightful part 
of spring, the whole length of a glorious summer 
pageant and the myriad beauties of autumn. 

The best trout rivers are undoubtedly the Surie 
and the Our. Vianden, almost up to which salmon 
come, is an admirable place as headquarters for a 
few days by the river Our between there and Das- 
bourg. Bettendorf is extremely convenient for the 
upper Sure, and a good centre, too, in the same 
region is Michelau, the first station north of Ettel- 
briick. Bettendorf has the advantage of being near 
the Blees, which, falling into the Sure at Blees- 
briick, is perhaps the best of the smaller rivers of 
the Grand Duchy. From Bourscheid upper Sure 
and Clerf are easily reached, and a short journey 
by train will take the angler to .Wilwerwiltz, where 
there are some fine stretches. At the railway 
junction, Kautenbach, Wiltz and Clerf provide the 


best of sport. Between Michelau and Kautenbach 
is Gobelsmiihle, the centre of a splendid ten-mile 
stretch of river, so that the district of the Cleirf 
and iWiltz Rivers and the upper Sure is an angler's 
paradise. The angler will no doubt be advised to 
pass some time at Diekirch, thrashing the Sure there, 
but I cannot advise him to do so. The fishing to 
be had at that spot is now inferior ; the local fishing 
club and its competitors have exacted too heavy a 
toll from the river. The Diekirch angler does not 
go about his pastime in a very sportsmanlike manner. 
He sits on a piece of land jutting out into the river, 
and from his little Cape of Good Hope a number 
of fishing-rods radiate out upon the stream. Waiting 
for something to turn up, this dull Micawber-like 
sportsman pays prolonged attention to the supplies 
of Diekirch ale and solid food which he has brougWt 
with him. The visitor would do well to leave 
Diekirch to this particular species of fisherman. 

A friend of mine made his base at Reisdorf, near 
the junction of Sure and Our. By doing so he 
was not far from some of the best sections of both 
rivers. But the chief attraction, he tells me, was 
the White Erenz, which falls into the Sure beside' 
the village. He fished upstream as far as to Fels, 
and found trout and g'raylin'g in abundance and of 
large size. He was most successful when usin^ the 
smallest flies. The fishing at Fels itself is very 
good indeed. 

Another excellent trout stream is the Eisch, the 
castled Rhine of Luxembourg. It is best when it 
mixes itself up with trees and bushes. At such 


spots it is difficult for the angler to approach it, but 
he will be well rewarded for his trouble. i 

I have mentioned the excellent roads in the Grand 
Duchy. The cyclist will find his mount an ideal 
means of exploring* the country, and bad roads will 
not impede his progress even in the most outlandish 
parts of the Duchy. As for the motorist, a country 
the size of Cheshire is probably too small. Quite 
candidly, I hope it is I The motor-car tourists are 
" the end of all things " in interesting " tourism " ; 
in single spies they can be tolerated. But single spies 
generally mean battalions before long. Belgian and 
German motorists have discovered the fine roads of 
the Duchy, and at least one death-tempting road 
race has been run upon them. The authorities in 
Luxembourg would do well to come down with heavy 
legal hand upon the motorist. It would be a 
thousand pities if her beauties are sacrificed to 
please a selfish automobilism, and if the safety, con- 
venience and pleasure of the pedestrian and the 
cyclist are disregarded as they are in neighbouring' 
France. The example of the Swiss cantonal autho- 
rities in prohibiting motor traffic might be copied 
with very great advantage, so that all may, without 
danger and annoyance, enjoy the beauties of a 
charming little land. 

Any large-scale map, of course, will show the 
cyclist which routes to choose — there are scarcely any 
to avoid as far as surface is concerned — so as to use 
his time to the best advantage. Ten first-class roads 
run into the Grand Duchy from the west. If the 
visitor has time to explore the whole country, which 


road he takes is merely a matter of choice dictated 
by the decision he makes as to which part of the 
Duchy he desires to see first. All the ten roads run 
eastward from that fine and mainly Belg'ian route 
which closely skirts, and at one point touches, the 
western border. Thoug-h most cyclists, on first 
thoug'hts, may prefer to run by train right through 
to Luxembourg" before they begin their wanderings 
awheel, still I would advise them to start their 
itinerary from one of the points on the Houffalize- 
Longwy road. One of the most interesting things 
about a visit to a naw country is the crossing of the 
frontier. If the cyclist intends to begin his explorations 
with the capital of the Grand Duchy itself, then there 
can be no better introduction to the city of Luxem- 
bourg and its neighbourhood than a ride from Arlon, 
capital of Belg'ian Luxembourg, across the frontier 
at Steinfort aiid via Capellen, Mamer and Strassen. 
From the frontier customs house a charming! view 
'of Arlon, perched upon its hill, is to be obtained. 
He is a bad soldier but a good wanderer who looks 
behind ! 

Then downwards the invader goes on a good road, 
bordered on both sides by trees, to Steinfort, which 
lies on both sides of the baby Eisch. A fairly stiff 
few miles of ridingf lead to quaint little Capellen, 
and then the cyclist is rewarded by a " coast " which 
carries him to the villag'e of Mamer. Four miles 
more — and twenty-five or so in all — and Luxembourg 
is reached. 

From Arlon two other roads run into the Grand 
Duchy. The more southerly of the two crosses the 


frontier at Grossbusch, and then presents a choice 
of routes to Mersch. To the left runs the slightly 
better of the two via Saeul. The southern road 
keeps company all the way with the rippling, beau- 
tiful Eisch, till it falls into the all-devouring Alzette 
at Mersch. This way is not sio good from the purely 
cycling point of view, but the cyclist will find very 
little to complain of. It will take him through one 
of the most delig'htful parts of the Grand Duchy, 
and if he appreciates scenery, historical remains 
and people he will do well to set apart a long 
day for this excursion, which, of course, is described, 
in the reverse direction, in Chapter VII. 

The most northerly of the three roads from Arlon 
runs almost due north to Ell, a deHghtfuI spin, and 
there joins company with the river Attert, from which 
it does not part until Mersch is reached. By hill 
and woodland it runs, past many picturesque little 
villages, sharing every twist and turn of the lovely 
stream. At Useldange the tiny Schwabach comes 
from the south to join it. The remains of a feudal 
castle crown a rocky height rising where the two 
rivers meet, the old castle chapel now being used 
as a church. The lords of Useldange exercised, in 
the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries, wide feudal 
sway and a powerful influence far beyond the rich, 
broad acres they owned. They also possessed 
fortress-castles at Scheuenbourg and Rottembourg. 
But their glory has faded. To-day nothing but the 
ruined tower, the decayed inn and decaying turreted 
wall and the pointed gateway of Useldange Castle 
remain as evidence of their existence and their might. 



A little farther on, at Boevangte, the visitor should 
turn aside to the right and visit Helperknapp, a hill, 
about a thousand feet hig^h, of curiously regular 
shape. It is visible from a great distance, and the 
view from the top of the mount, green and wooded 
itself and set down in a green and wooded land, is 
one of the most delightful in this part of the country. 
Such a height, with its level top, could not but attract 
soldier and priest in the days gone by. Undoubtedly 
the Druids performed their sacred, secret rites on 
the hilltop, and the remains of a military camp have 
been found. The very name carries us back by 
the dim paths of tradition behind the Christian era 
to times lost in the mist of fable. It is not correct, 
1 am sure, merely to translate the name Helper- 
knapp by Mountain of Succour or Help. Helpehrt 
is the name given by the ancients to Pertha, or 
Freia, as the Goddess of Death. Not far away is 
Grevenknapp, additional evidence that this dread deity 
had her priests and altars here. Grevenknapp is 
most likely derived from " Gravin als Holla," the 
dignity bestowed upon Freia as Goddess of Hell. 
Finsterthal, too, runs near these heights, and it is 
said to be a paraphrase of Thorsmarkt, the name 
originally given to a fair held even to-day. 

A church once stood upon the summit, together 
with a dwelling for passing pilgrims and the poor. 
Both fell into ruins long ago, the fierce storms of 
winter scattering the poor, neglected remains. A 
spring, to the waters of which were attributed 
magical powers, flows out of the earth near the 
top ,of the hill. Here an altar once stood, with the 


carved figures of Isis and Hercules. They were 
taken away during the sixteenth century to add to 
the riches of Count Mansfeld's castle at Luxem- 
bourg. That castle fell into ruins, and all trace 
of these and many other Valuable relics was lost. 
Prior to 1804, when a terrible tempest wrought final 
havoc with the ancient buildings on the top of Hel- 
perknapp, an important fair was held on the summit 
on the first Monday of May. Since time imtne- 
morial that festival had been held there, but in 1804 
it was transferred to the foot of the mount, near 
the little village of Finsterthal. The place totally 
belies its sombre, sinister name, and for one day in 
the year it lives a 'giay and happy life, drawing people 
to it from all parts of the Duchy and even from' 
over her borders. Most of the visitors go to enjoy 
themselves by means of the ordinary fair festivities, 
but a g'ood trade as well is done in selling cattle and 
in disposing of those cheap, gaudy wares which the 
fair-spirit prompts the peasants to buy, though they 
would scorn such purchases at other times of the year. 

Helperknapp has passed into the popular speech. 
The people of a wide neighbourhood do not say, 
" As old as the hills," but " As old as Helperknapp." 

Two very fair roads lead from Bastogne into the 
Grand Duchy, one cutting off a small portion of the 
northern extremity of the country and then dis- 
appearing into the Happy Fatherland. The other, 
more southerly, and an excellent route, goes to Wiltz, 
and from there to the north or into the centre of 
the Grand Duchy. If, however, the tourist awheel 
wishes to enter Luxembourg' by the north, he should 


set out from Houffalize, and, running' north for a 
mile or so, take the switchback road which cuts off 
to the right and, via Cherain and Gouvy, enter the 
Duchy at Holdingen. Then he can make either 
Ulfiingen or Clervaux his temporary base for his 
northern excursions. There he will find many 
delightful roads , 

Superbly sinuous and serpentine 

Thro' silent symphonies of summer green. 

The roads in the eastern part of Luxembourg are, 
if anything, better than those of the west, thoulgh 
the surface of the country between Alzette and Sure 
is much more hilly. Still, if the cyclist has to climb 
a good deal beside his mount, he is generally amply 
rewarded for such exertion by beautiful scenery and 
by lengthy " coasts." , 

Travel to and in Luxembourg is extremely cheap. 
The capital of the Grand Duchy is just about twelve 
hours from London. Via Calais and LongUyon is 
the best route, the fares being £5 13s. 7d. first 
class and £4 2s. 4d. second class. Via Ostend 
the journey is a couple of hours longfer (fourteen 
hours) than that via Calais. The fare is a good 
deal cheaper, being £4 13s. gd. and £3 gs. for 
first and second class respectively. (The amouats 
quoted are for return tickets.) A still cheaper but 
extremely pleasant route is that via Harwich and 
Antwerp. It takes just twenty hours, though, of 
course, the traveller would be well advised to spend 
a day or so at Antwerp when journeying! by this 
route ; by the others Brussels is likely to claim more 


than a passing glance. The Harwich -Antwerp return 
fares are £3 15s. 6d. first class and £2 8s. 5d'. 
second. All these figures, of course, are subject 
to variation. 

The Grand Duchy is well supplied with railways. 
There are now about six hundred kilometres open, 
a greater relative length of line than that possessed 
by England. Very frequent services are run through- 
out the whole country, and the visitor should carry 
with him a copy of the Grand Duchy time-taJble. 
Its title is " Indicateur des chemins de fer du Grand 
Duch6 de Luxembourg, avec les correspondances vers 
les pays voisins," and it costs 'twopence. It gives 
times and fares on all the railways, steam' tram- 
ways, motor diligences, etc. There are two 
principal railway systems in Luxembourg — the 
.Wilhelm-Luxembourgi and the Prince Henri. The 
.Wilhelm -Luxembourg system includes the central line 
running from Troisvierges (Ulflingen) in the north, 
through Ettelbriick, Mersch and Luxembourg, to 
Bettembourg in the south, and from there to Thion- 
ville (Diedenhofen) in Lorraine. There are branch 
lines from Ettelbriick to Diekirch and from Bettem- 
bourg to Esch-sur-Alzette, and the line running from 
Arlon to Treves (Trier) via Luxembourg is also part 
of the system, which is worked by the directorate 
of the Alsace-Lorraine Railways. 

The other system is the circular railway of thei 
little Duchy. Starting' at Esch-sur-Alzette, it hugs 
the French and Belgian borders till it reaches 
Beckerich ; then across country it goes, joining the 
other system at Welsdorf and running with it from' 


there, via Ettelbriick, to Diekirch. From there it 
follows the Sure round to AVasserbillig', and from 
that town it mounts the Mosel to Grevenmacher . 
The Petange-Luxembourg, Kautenbach-Bastogne and 
Luxembourg'-Echternach lines belong to the same 

There are two companies which work lig^ht rail- 
ways. One controls the Kruchten-Fels, the Luxem- 
bourg -Remich and Luxembourg -Echternach lines ; 
the other's system consists of the " chemins de fer 
cantonaux " between Diekirch and Vianden and 
Martelange and Noerdange. 

The visitor will find a little difficulty with money 
while in the Grand Duchy. Luxembourg has not 
a full coinage of its own ; the only coins minted are 
I o, 5 and 2^ centimes in copper. The strictly official 
currency is the Belgian, but French and Genman 
moneys are in full circulation. The four different 
kinds of money are given everywhere in change quite 
indiscriminately, and the mixture is often very worry- 
ing. To add to the confusion — an amusing con- 
fusion it is — the people mostly reckon smaller amounts 
in sous. In shops inexpensive articles are as a rule 
priced at so many sous. When one has French or 
Belgian money, calculation by sous is not so trouble- 
some. The five centimes of the sou are equal to 
four pfennige, and, remembering that, a little rapid 
mental arithmetic will solve all difficulties with small 
German money. In country districts the old term 
" Groschen " is still heard, and on one occasion just 
over the southern border I came across a Worthy 
old shopkeeper of Lorraine who was only Germanized 


to the extent that she called " dreissig Pfennige " 
" trente pennice." 

So, good reader, I have " given you my hand " 
through the delectable Grand Duchy of Luxembourg. 
" Travellers," says Shakespeare, " must be content." 
In the pleasant little Ruritania through which we! 
have wandered travellers, I am sure, cannot help 
but be so, and all those who wend their ways by 
her towns and villages, her valleys and green, wooded 
heights will, when they take their last looks and 
wave their last farewell, use Victor Hugo's words, 
" J'aime votre charmant pays," and will like to think, 
at any rate, " J'y reviendrai encore." 

May there be peace and prosperity in store for 
that land of infinite charms and endless romance, a 
little country which, when he knows it, will call and 
call again in a wanderer's ear I 













Drawn by _ 

ith Lovcll Andrews . 



? J 6 T « 9 >o ii io it i? SKil 

iMoO I 1 s -t 





























*W.nchcrlngen| SAA| 





Adolf, Duke of Nassau, 36 

Aesbach, The, 139, 141, 142, 143 

Afforestation, 39 

Africa, White Fathers of, 203-5 

Agricultural education, 18, 39-40, 225 

Agriculture, 18-19, 39-4°) 90 

Ahn, 114 

Albert of Austria, 31 

Alscheid, 263 

Altbach, The, 77-8, 93 

Altlinster, 178, 179-80 

AltmUnster, Plateau of, 71 

Alttrier, 99, 100, 171, 172-3 

Altwies, 91 

Alzette, River, 46, 51, 52, 86, 88, 89, 

193-5. '99. 216. 225, 226, 299, 305 
Amusements in city of Luxembourg, 

Ansembourg, 205-9, 216; Legend of, 

Antiquarian interests, 16, 21, 24, 61, 

72-3, 97. 172-6, 180-1, 191, 227, 

228-30, 237-83 
Arcadius, Emperor, 173 
Architecture in city of Luxembourg, 

46, 55, 56, 59-60 ; in Grand Duchy, 

J95, 226 
Archives, Luxembourg, 73 
Ardenne, The Count of, 26 
Arduenna, Forest of, 16, 25, 106 
Arenbourg, Prince Charles d', 188 
Arlon, 86, 99, 213,^304, 305 ; Counts 

of, 210 
Army of Luxembourg, 17 
Arsdorf, 263 
Artisans' school, 18 
Asphalt, 91 

Athte^e, The Luxembourg, 60-1 
Attert, The River, 195, 226, 305 
Attila, 16, 225, 237 

Austrian rule in Luxembourg, 30-2, 33 
Autel, John Frederick of, 192 

Baldur's Hill, Ceremony of, 259 

Bascharage, 81, 83 

Bastendorf, 233, 263 

Bastogne, 307, 310 

Bauler, 251 

Baumbusch, Forest of, 217 

Bavaria, Elector of, 32-3 

Beaufort, 145, 148, 161-4 

Beck, Jean, 162-3 

Beckerich, 309 

Behlenberg, 229 

Behlendorf, 229 

Bel-Val mineral source, 85 

Belgian Revolt, 34 

Belsberg, see Baldur's Hill 

Belvaux, 84-5 

Benedictines in Luxembourg, 68, 94, 

122, 289-91 
Berdorf, 145-7, 152, 298-9; Plateau 

of, 148 
Beringer, 193 
Berta, 258 
Bertels, Abbot, 122 
Berward, Castle of, 86 
Bettembourg, 86, 88, 309 ; Forest of, 

Bettendorf, 263, 301 
Betzdorf, 116 
Bellenflesschen, 229 
Bilbourg, Conon, Seigneur of, 252-4 
Bildchen, Chapelle du, 243, 256-8, 

Binzeltschluff, The, 151-2 
Birel, Valley of, 116 
Biresbach, The, 154 
Bivels, 251, 25s 
"Black Country" of Luxembourg, 

Blees, River, 232-3, 236, 301 
Bleesbrlick, 301 
Blumenthal, The, 173, 178 
Boar hunting, 290-300 




Boevange, 306 

Bock, The, 49, 51, 63-9 

BoUendorf, 139, 229 

Bondorf, 263 

Born, 117 

Botanical Garden, Luxembourg, 50 

Boufflers, Marshal, 32, 184, 187, 192, 

200, 201, 206-7, 210, 230, 234, 240, 

Boulay, 96 
Bour, 209 
Bourscheid, 229, 263, 264-6, 276, 301 ; 

Victor Hugo at, 266 
Bous, loi 

Brabant, John I, Duke of, 270 
Brandenbourg, 137, 232, 233-5, 265 ; 

Lords of, 238 
Breitweiler, 173, 178 
BUderscheid, 271 
Burgelinster, 178-9 
Burgomasters, Selection of, 18 
Burgundian rule in Luxembourg, 29-30, 


Cabinet, The, 17 

Caesar, Julius, 16, 24-5 

Capellen, 304 

Caracalla, 229 

Casino, Luxembourg, 62 

Castle, Ansembourg, 205-9; Beaufort, 
161-3 ; Bourscheid, 229, 264-6 
Brandenbourg, 233-5, 265 ; Burge 
linster, 178-9 ; Clervaux, 286-9 
Colmar Berg, 195 ; Contern, 116 
Dasbourg, 283 ; Esch-on-the-Sure, 
275-7 ; Falkenstein, 251-5 ; Fels! 
184-7; Heringerburg, 158-60; Hes- 
perange, 89-90; HoUenfels, 200-2 
Mersch, 191-2 ; Meysembourg. 
187-8; Pittange, 193-5; Puttelange, 
94 ; Rodemack, 97-8 ; Rottem 
bourg, 305 ; Scheuenbourg, 305 
Schonfels, 2l8-2l ; Schrassich, 116 
Septfontaines, 210-1 ; Stadtbredi 
mus, 115 ; Stolzembourg, 255-6 
Thorn, 115; Useldange, 305 ; Vian- 
den, 162, 246-51 ; Wellen, 115 

Cathedral Notre-Dame, Luxembourg, 
57-60, 63 

Celtic remains, 21, 24, 73, 178-81, 228-9 

Chapel of St. Hubert, 173-4 ; of St. 
John the Baptist, 86 : of St. Quiri- 
nus, 69-70 ; of St. Wendelin, 70 

Charlemagne, 16, 26, 46, 158, 268 

Charles, V, 16, 30-1, 67 ; VI, 33 ; the 
Bold, 30-1 ; Frederick, Margrave 
of Baden, 97 ; Martel, 27 

Cherain, 308 

Chiers, River, 78, 83, 85 

Christianity in Luxembourg, 118, 119, 
132, 176-8, 229 

Christnach, 173-8; Legend of, 176-8 

Christopher, Margrave of Baden, 97 

Church of Bastendorf, 233 ; of Berdorf, 
145-7; of Clervaux, 289-90 ; of Cons- 
dorf, 155; of Ettelbrlick, 225-6; at 
Helperknapp, 306-7 ; of Junglinster, 
179 ; of Mersch, 190-1 ; of Putte- 
lange, 94 ; of Rodemack, 95-6 ; of St. 
Cundgonde, 70-1 ; of St. John, 68-9; 
of St. Laurent, Diekirch, 230-1 ; St. 
Nicholas, Vianden, 240 ; of St. Peter 
and St. Paul, Echternach, 120, 
124-6; of St. Willibrord, Echter- 
nach, 120-2; of Septfontaines, 210; 
of Vianden Parish, 243-5, 258 

Cistercian Monastery, 85 

Claudius Civilis, 25 

Clausen, 51, 70-1 

Clerf, River, 285-6, 301, 302 

Clervaux, 282, 285-93, 301 ; Castle of, 
286-9 > Peasants' War, memorial at, 

Climate, 37 

Clovis, 26 

Coinage, 310-11 

Colmar Berg, Castle of, 195 

Confederation, German, 34, 35 

Conrad I, 71 

Consdorf, 152-3, 154, 155, 171 

Consdorferbach, The, 172 

Contern, 116 

Courteney, Marguerite of, 203 

Cr^quy, Marshal de, 98 

Cronenbourg, 96 

Cunegonde, St., Church of, 70-1 

Customs Union, German, 19-20 

Cycling, 303-8 

Dagobert, U, 119 

Dahnen, 282, 283-5 

Dalheim, Roman Camp at, 98-101 

Dancing Procession at Echternach, The, 

126-30; music of the, 128 
Dasbourg, 282-3, 3°l 
Deivelselter, The, 228-9 
Deputies, The Chamber of, 57 
Dewepetz, The, 153 
Diana, 66-7, 175-6, 177 
Dicks, The poet, 62-3 
Dido, 228 

Didoselter (Dideselter), The, 228-9 
Diekirch, 17, 18, 227, 228-31, 235, 

302, 309, 310 ; H6tel de Ville at, 231 



Differdange, 84-5 

Dillingen, 149 

Dingstuhl, The, at Echternach, 130-1 

Dinselberg, The, 70 

Dippach, 81 

Dosterbach, The, 152 

Dudelange, 86-7 ; massacre of, 87 

Dutch garrison in Luxembourg, 32 

Eburones, The, 263 

Echternach, 18, 21, 67, 77, 117, 118- 
32, 139, 142, 162, 172, 226, 298; 
Abbey of, 94, 122-3, 'S' 5 Basilica 
of, 120-2 ; Bell of Emperor Maximi- 
lian at, 127 ; Church of St. Peter and 
St. Paul at, 120, 124-6 ; Church of 
St. Willibrord at, 120-2 ; Dancing 
Procession at, 126-30 ; Dingstuhl at, 
1 30-1 ; French Revolutionaries in, 
121, 123; H6tel de Ville of, 131-2; 
Jahrgeding at, 131 ; Louis XV 
Pavilion at, 120; Monastery of, 
119; park of, 120; relics at, 125; 
St. Willibrord and, 118, 119; St. 
Willibrord's Hospice at, 123-4 ; St. 
Willibrord s Shrine at, 122, 126, 129 ; 
St. Willibrord's Well at, 124 ; Troos- 
knepchen at, 132 

Education, 18, 20, 37-8, 39-40 

Ehnen, 114 

Eisch, River, 51, 189, 199-217, 302-3, 
304, 305 ; source of, 216-7 

Eischen, 213 

Eisgrotte, 150, 152 

Eisling, see Osling 

Elizabeth of Gbrhtz, 29 

Ell, 30s 

Engling, Abbe, 175 

' ' English Belt " in Luxembourg, 267-9 

Erenz Blanche, River, 179, 182-3, 302 

Erenz Noire, River, 135, 137, 147, 148, 
149, 156-8, 160, 178-9, 299 

Ermesinde, Countess, 56, 63, 162, 192, 
194, 203 

Esch-on-the-Alzette, 18, 84, 85-6, 87, 
loi, 199, 309 

Esch-on-the-Sure, 271-81 ; Antonius- 
busche at, 279-80 ; Castle of, 275-7 ; 
Legend of, 278-9 ; Liszt and, 277 ; 
Mariensaule at, 277 ; Victor Hugo 
and, 277 

Ettelbrllck, 18, 195, 199, 225-7, 309, 
310 ; Grosse Kermesse at, 226-7 

Eulenburg, 155 

Euphrosine, Legend of, 252-4 

Export trade, 18^19 

Eyschen, M. Paul, 144 

Falkenstein, Castle of, 251-5 ; Legend 
of, 252-5 ; Lords of, 238, 250-1, 256 

" Feier-vs'6n" (National Hymn), 62-3 

Fels, 176-8, 181-7, 299, 302, 310 

Fentange, 88 

F^reole, St. , 95 

Ferns in Luxembourg, 80 

Feudalism, 28-9 

Fingig, 216 

Finsterthal, The, 306, 307 

Firmin, St., 94 

Fishing, 93, 218, 231, 233, 237, 300-3 

Flowers in Luxembourg, 79-80 

Folkendange, 159-60 

Forbach, The, 96 

Franchise, The, in Luxembourg, 17, 18 

Francis I, 286, 287, 288 

Franciscans, The, 57 

Franco-Prussian War, 36 

Frankish rule in Luxembourg, 26, 291 

Freia, 181, 258, 306 

French Language, 20, 21 

French Revolution, 33-4, 59, 97, 118, 
121, 123, 187-8, 202, 203, 240 

French rule in Luxembourg, 32, 240 

Freyley (Freia's Rock), 181 

Friedhof, 235 

Gargan, Baron de, 97 

Gauls in Luxembourg, 24,61, 191 

Geiersley, The, 140, 142 

Geology, 21, 23-4 

German Influence in Luxembourg, 

19-20, 38-9 ; Language, 20, 21 
Gilles IV, 96 
Gilsdorf, 231, 268 
Gloves, Manufacture of, 18-19 
Gobelsmiihle, 280, 302 
Godefroid d'Ardenne, 307 ; III, of 

Vianden, 244 
Goesdorf, 263 

Goethe in Luxembourg, 47-8, 72 
Golden Fleece, Insignia of, 60 
Goldfralay, The, 154 
Goldkaul, The, 155 
Goths in Luxembourg, 112, 225 
Gouvy, 308 
Grand Duchess of Luxembourg, 16-17, 

36, 37-9 
Grand Duke William of Luxembourg, 

Grass, 214 
Graulinster, 178 
Gravenmacher, 106, 115, 310 
Greiweldange, 114 
Grevenknapp, 306 
Griselinda, Legend of, 158-60 



Grossbusch Woods, 213, 305 

Grotte des Nains, 219 

Grand, 58, 68-70, 71 

Grundhof, 137, 138, 147, 148, 149, 155 

Grunenwald, The, 149 

Gutland, Region of, 23, 233, 237 

Hadrian, 112 

Hallerbach, The, 158, 160-1 

Halsbach, The, 140, 141, 142 

Hardt, Forest of, 169 

Hart, The, 228 

Hegelbach, The, 139 
Heiderscheid, 281-2 

Helperknapp, 86, 306-7 

Henry I, 203 ; II, 95 ; III, 84 ; IV, 
56, 65, 91 ; VI, 270 ; VII, 56, 68, 
210-11 ; of Esch, 276; of High 
Lotharingia, 27 ; of Luxembourg, 
Prince, 195 

Hercules, 66-7, 307 

Heringerburg, Ruin of, 158-60 

Herrenberg, The, 229 

Hersberg, 172 

Hertbour, The, 153 

Hertesgewey, 181 

Herthesley, 180-1 

Hesperange, 89-90, 96, 193 

Heu, Gaspard de, 162 

Hexelach, The, at Vianden, 249 

Hidelbour, The, 259 

Himlingen, 94 

Hivange, 217 

Hobscheid, 212, 213 

Hockelstflr, Vianden, 249 

HohenzoUern, House of, 16 

Hohl, 147, 150-1 

Holda, 259 

Holdingen, 308 

HoUay, The, 143-4, 146 

Hollenfels, 200-2, 216 

Hollerich, 49 

Hoscheid, 263, 264 

Hosingen, 282 

Houffalize, 304, 308 

Hubert, St., Chapel of, 173-4 

Hubertusbach, The, 161 

Hugo, General, 98 

Hugo, Victor, 241-3, 246, 266, 277 

Hunnenlei, The, 237 

Huns' ravages in Luxembourg, 16, 26, 

Hunyady, Julia, Countess, 188 

Industries, 18-19, 269 
Indutiomar, 25 
Ingeldorf, 227 

Irmine, Princess, 119, 123, 124 

Iron ore, Extraction and smelting of, 

19, 84 
Italians in the Grand Duchy, 19 
Itzig, 90 

"Jardin du General," Luxembourg, 

Jean I'Aveugle (King of Bohemia and 
Count of Luxembourg), 28, 56, 58-9, 
64, 68-9, 91, 96, 230 

Jeanne of Arragon and Castille, 30 

Jesuits in Luxembourg, 57, 60 

John, the Baptist, St., Chapel of, 86; 
the Blind, see Jean I'Aveugle ; John 
I, Duke of Brabant, 270 ; Nepomuk, 
St., 240-1 ; 274, 276 ; St., Parish 
Church of Luxembourg, 68-9 

Joseph II, 33, 203, 288 

Judicial system. The, of Grand Duchy, 

Junglinster, 178, 179, 189 
Jupiter, Altar to, 173 

Kahler, 214 

Kappellenbach, The, 169 

Kasselbach, The, 157-8 

Kasselt, 148 

Kautenbach, 267, 301, 310 

Kayl, 86, 87 

K^ylbach, The, 86 

Kehmen, 266-7 

Kippenhof, 235 

Kleinbettingen, 213, 214, 215 

Kloeppelkrieg, The, see Peasants' War 

Kohlscheuer, The, 153 

Kopstal, 218 

Kruchten, 181, 310 

Kuentzig, see Clemency 

Labyrinth, The, 139, 140 

Land Laws, 40 

Languages in Luxembourg, 20-1, 22-3, 

Lannoy, Counts of, 287-8 
La Rochette, see Fels 
Laurent, St., Church of, at Diekirch, 

Legends, 56, 64-7, 158-60, 176-8, 

207-9, 244-5, 250-1. 252-s, 257-8, 

259. 27s. 278-9 
Lens, Battle of, 163 
Lentz, The Poet, 62-3 
Lestchef, The, 84 
Library, Luxembourg National, 61 
Limbourg, Duchy of, 270 
Limpersbourg, 60 



Liszt, 277 

London, Treaty of, 34 

Longwy, 86, 304 

Lorraine, 23, 77 

Lotharingia, High, 26, 27 ; Low, 26 

Louis XIV of France, 32, 57 

Louis Philippe, 54 

Luther at Diet of Augsburg, picture of, 

Luxembourg, City of, 17, 18, 45-74; 
Amusements in, 62 ; Archseological 
and Natural History Museum in, 
72-3, 191 ; Architecture in, 46, 55, 
56, 59-60 ; Archives of, 73; Athenee, 
The, of, 60-1 ; Bock, The, of, 49, 51, 
63-69; Botanical Garden in, 50; 
Casino of, 62 ; Cathedral of, 57-60, 
93; Cunegonde, St., Church of, in, 
70-1 ; Dutch garrison in, 32 ; Forti- 
fications of, 35, 67-8, 72 ; Founda- 
tion of, 27 ; Goethe in, 47-8, 72 ; 
Grand Ducal Palace in, 55-7 ; Hotel 
de Ville of, 54 ; " Jardin du General," 
The, in, 50-1 ; John, St., Parish 
Church of, in, 68-9; Library, National, 
in, 61 ; Marie d'Autriche and, 67 ; 
Market of, 53 ; Niedergriinewald of, 
73 ; Obergrilnewald of, 73 ; Parkhohe 
of, 73 ; Palais Municipal of, 63 ; 
Pescatore Institute and Museum in, 
51-2, 54 ; Population of, 48 ; Quir- 
inus, St., Chapel of, 69-70; Roses 
in, 47 ; Sieges of, 30, 33, 59, 9° J 
Synagogue of, 63 ; Thllngen, Fort, 
of, 73, 292 ; Wendelin, St., Chapel 
of, in, 70 
Luxembourg, Grand Duchy of, Affor- 
estation in, 39 ; Agricultural Educa- 
tion in, 18, 39-40 ; Agriculture in, 
18-19, 39-40, 90 ; Antiquarian in- 
terests in, 16, 21, 24, 61, 72-3, 97, 
172-6, 180-1, 191, 227, 228-30, 
237 ; Architecture in, 195, 226 ; 
Army of, 17 ; Austrian rule in, 
30-2 ; Benedictines in, 68, 94, 122, 
289-91; " Black Country " of, 83-8 ; 
Boar hunting in, 299-300; Burgo- 
masters, Selection of, in, 18 ; Bur- 
gundian rule in, 29-30, 90 ; Cabinet 
of, 17 ; Celtic remains in, 21, 24, 73, 
178-81, 228-9 ; Christianity in, 118, 
1 1 9, 132, 176-8, 229 ; Cistercians in, 
85 ; Climate of, 37 ; Coinage in, 
309-10 ; Constitution of, 17, 20, 35 ; 
Customs Union, German, and, 19, 
20; Cycling in, 303-8; Education 
in, 18, 20, 37-8, 39-40; "English 

Belt" in, 267-9; Export trade of, 
18-19 ; Ferns in, 80 ; FeudaUsm in, 
28-9 ; Fishing in, 93, 218, 231, 233, 
237, 300-3 ; Flowers in, 79-80; 
Franchise in, 17, 18; Franciscans 
in, 57 ; Frankish rule in, 26, 191 ; 
French Revolutionaries in, 33-4, 59i 
90, 97, 118, 121, 123, 187-8, 202, 
203, 240 ; French rule in, 32, 240 ; 
Gauls in, 24, 61, 191 ; Geology of, 
21,23-4; German influence in, 20-1, 
38-9; Goths in, 112, 225; Grand 
Duchess of, 16-17, 3^, 37-9 ; Gut- 
land region of, 23, 233, 237 ; His- 
tory of, 16, 24-36 ; Huns' ravages 
in, 16, 26, 112, 237 ; Industries of, 
18-19, 269 ; Iron, Production of, in, 
20, 84 ; Italians in, 20 ; Jesuits in, 
57, 60 ; Judicial System in, 17 ; 
Land Laws of, 40 ; Languages in, 
20-1, 22-3, 26, 85 ; Legends of, 58, 
64-7, 158-60, 176-8, 207-9, 244-5, 
250-1, 252-5, 257-8, 259, 275, 278-9 ; 
Merovingians in, 26 ; Monarchy in, 
16-17, 36; Money in, 309-10; 
National Hymn of, 62-3 ; Normans 
in, 26, 107, 238, 268 ; Orchids in, 
60 ; Osling region of, 21-3, 226, 
233, 237, 271, 273, 286 ; Parliament 
of. I7i 57 ; Patois in, 20-1, 85, 
267-9 ; Peasants' War in, 34, 73-4, 
24C^ 291-3 ; People of, 36-9, 81-3, 
107-8 ; Population of, 15, 18 ; Posi- 
tion, Geographical, of, 15 ; Prussians 
in, 34, 35,98 ; Railways in, 20, 181-2, 
216, 264, 309-10; Religion in, 36-8 ; 
Roads in, 303-8 ; Roman remains 
in, 21, 61, 68. 73, 84-5, 98-:oi, 
109-13, 116, 146-7, 172-6, 191, 210, 
227, 229-30, 234, 237, 283 ; Romans 
in, 16, 24-6, 106, 172-8, 191, 210, 
237; Saxons in, 26, 158, 268-9; 
Scandinavian mythology in, 70 ; 
Shooting in, 299-30 ; Size of, 15, 
28, 34-5 ; Spanish rule in, 32 ; Sport 
in, see under Fishing, Shooting, etc. ; 
Succession Law of, 40 ; Switzerland, 
The, of, 23, 135-65 ; Taxation in, 
17 ; Thirty Years War and, 16, 31, 
162, '239-40 ; Travel, cost of, in 
and to the, 308-9 ; Victor Hugo and, 
241-3, 246, 266, 277 ; Wine, Pro- 
duction of, in, 18, U4, 115 

Machtum, 114 

Mamer, River, 189, 199, 2l6, 217-21 ; 
Town of, 217, 304 



Mannus, i8o 

Mansfeld, Count Ernest of, SS, S6, 71, 

Margaret of Vianden, Countess, 248 
Marie d'Autriche, 67 
Marie Th^rese, 33, 60, 78, 288 
Marie of Vianden, Countess, Legend 

of, 244-s 
Marienthal, Convent of, 192, 202-5, 

216, 272 
Mark, Robert de la, 98 
Martelange, 310 

Martin's Eve, St., Ceremony of, 259 
Mauerchen, Mount, 216-17 
Maximilian (Archduke and Emperor 

of Austria), 30, 90, 194 ; Bell of, 

at Echternach, 127 
Maximin, St., 27, 217 
Medernach, 173 
Melusina, 56, 64-7 

Merovingians, The, in Luxembourg, 26 
Mersch, 188-93, 203, 221, 305, 309; 

Power of, 1 90- 1 
Merscheid, 264 
Mertert, 116 
Metz, 99, 107, 239 
Meysembourg, 187-8 
Michelau, 266-7, 301 
Michelshof, 170 

Mies Plateau, 199-200, 216, 217 
Monarchy, The, in Luxembourg, 16-17 
Monastery of Benedictines, 289-91 ; 

Cistercian, 85 ; of Echternach, 119; 

of Mlinster, 71 
Mondorf, 77-8, 88-93, 298 ; water, 

Money in Luxembourg, 310-11 
Mont St. Jean, 86 
Mosaic, of Bous, loi ; of Nennig, 

Mosdorf, 193 
Mosel Valley, 23, 24, 26, 78, 99, loi, 

105-17, 238, 310 
MuUerthal, 23, 77, 137, 155, 156-7; 

Village, 146 
Museum, Archteologlcal and Natural 

History, at Luxembourg, 72-3 
Mythology, Scandinavian, 70 

Nachtmanderscheid, 264 

Napoleon Bonaparte, 57, 97 

Nassau, 34 ; Adolf, Duke of, 36 ; 

House of, 249, 283 
National Hymn, 62-3 
Nennig, Roman Mosaic and Villa at, 

Nepomuk, St. John, 240-1, 274, 276 

Neptune, Altar to, 90 

Neu'erbourg, 96 

Nibelungen, Luxembourg and the, 

Nicholas, St., Church of (Vianden), 

Niedergrlinewald, 73 

Niederwiltz, 269 

Nittel, 114 

Noell, Height of, see Baldur's Hill 

Noerdange, 310 

Noertzange, 86 

Normans, The, in Luxembourg, 26, 107, 
238, 268 

Notre-Dame, Cathedral of, at Luxem- 
bourg, 57-60 ; Feast of Ste. Vierge 
de, 70 

Nouck, 227 

Obergriinewald, 73 ' 

Obrenovitch IH, Prince Michael 

(Servia), 188 
Oetrange, 1 16 
Olsmiihle (Oligsmiihle), 175 
Orchids in Luxembourg, 80 
Osling Region, 21-3, 226, 233, 237, 

271, 273, 286 
Our, River, 301, 302; Salmon, 237 

Palace, Grand Ducal, 55-7 

Palais Municipal of Luxembourg, 63 

Palzen, 114 

Parkhbhe, The, at Luxembourg, 73 

Parliament, The, of Grand Duchy, 17 

Patois of Luxembourg, 20-1, 85, 267-9 

Pavia, Battle of, 286, 287 

Peasants' War, The, 34, 73-4, 240, 

People, Characteristics of the Luxem- 
bourg, 36-9, 81-3, 107-8 

Perekop, The, 140-1 

Pescatore Institute and Museum, 
51-2, 54 

Petange, 310 

Peter and Paul, SS., Church of, at 
Echternach, 120, 124-6 

Petrusse, The River, 46, 49, 52 

Peyrouse, Count de la, 194 

Pfaffenthal, The, 48, 51, 71-3 

Philip, Archduke of Austria, 30 ; of 
Burgimdy, 29-30; H, 31, 55, 162 

Philippe, Count of Vianden, 238-9 

Pittange, 193-5 

Ponteschgrund, 170 

Population, of Grand Duchy, 15, 18 ; 
of Luxembourg city, 48 

P6rbretchen, 258-9 



Preisch, 78 

Prussians in Luxembourg, 34, 35, 98 

Putscheid, 263, 264 

Puttelange, 78, 93-4 ; Church of, 94 

Quirinus, St., 94, 174 ; Chapel of, 69-70 

Racine, Visit of, to Luxembourg, 57 

Railways, 20, 181-2, 216, 264, 309-10 

Rehlingen, 114 

Reisdorf, 149, 164, 263, 302 

Relics at Echtemach, 125 

Religion, 36-8 

Remich, 26, loi, 105-9 

Rham Plateau, 68 

Richemont, 96 

Roads in Luxembourg, 303-8 

Rodange, 83, 84 

Rodemack, 77, 78, 93-8 ; Castle of, 
97-8 ; Church of, 95-6 ; Lords of, 
89-90 ; Prussian attack on, 98 

Roderic, Legend of, 176-8 

Roesser Valley, 90 

Roitzbach, The, 147, 150 

RoUinsgerbach, The, 188 

Roman remains in Luxembourg, 21, 
68, 73, 84-5, 98-101, 109-13, Il6, 
146-7, 172-6, 191,210, 227, 229-30, 
234, 237, 283 

Romans in Luxembourg, 16, 24-6, lo6, 
172-8, 191, 210, 237' 

Roses in City of Luxembourg, 47 

Rosport, 118 

Rosswinkel Height, 170 

Roth, 236 

Rottembourg, 305 

Roussy, 78 

Saar, River, loi 

Saeul, 305 

Salmon, River Our, 237 

Sassel, 293 

Sasselbach, The, 232 

Saxons in Luxembourg, 26, 158, 268-9 

Scandinavian Mythology, 70 

Scheidgen, 170 

Scheuenbourg, 305 

Scheuerberg, 106 

SchiessentUmpel, The, 156, 157 

Schindels, see Schonfels. 

Schlindermanderschied, 264 

Schnellert, The, 151 

Schonfels, 218-21 

Schoupp, Gregoire, 122 

Schrassich, Castle of, 116 

Schiitzenberg, The, 235 

Schwabach, The, 305 

Schwanhilde, Legend of, 176-8 

Seitert, Forest of, 235 

Septfontaines, 210-11, 216; Thomas 

de, 211 
Sept Gorges, 148 
Shanz, see Alttrier. 
Shooting in Luxembourg, 299-300 
Siegfried of Luxembourg, 27, 28, 46, 

64, 67 
Sigismund of Luxembourg, 29 
Simmer, Field-Marshal, 97 
Simmern, see Septfontaines 
Soleuvre, 84-5, 86, 99 
Sophia of Bohemia, 240 
Sorcerers' Hole (Vianden), see Hexelach 
Spanheim, Count Simon de, 244-5 
Spanish rule in Luxembourg, 32 
Sport, see Fishing, Shooting, etc. 
Stadtbredimus, 114; Castle of, 115 
Steinfort, 213, 304 
Stolzembourg, 255-6 ; Legend of 

Count Robert of, 252-4 ; Lords of, 

238, 253 
Strassen, 304 
Strassenbusch, 217 

Succession Law in Luxembourg, 40 
Sure, The River, 117, 119-20, 137, :42, 

148, 149, 216, 225, 227, 229, 231-2, 

236, 264, 265, 302, 310 
Switzerland, The, of Grand Duchy, 

23. i.^S-65 
Synagogue, Luxembourg, 63 
Syre, River, 116-17 
Syren, 116-17 

Taupeschbach, The, i6l 

Taxation, 17 

Teachers, Training of, 1 8 

Teufelsschart, The, 139 

Thirty Years War, l6, 31, 162, 239-40 

Thorenberg, see Herrenberg 

Thorn, Castle of, 115 

Thorsmarkt, The, 306 

Thiingen, Fort, 73, 292 

Titelberg, 83, 84, 99, 100 

Tourist, Advice to the, 14-15, 93, 

Travel, Cost of, 308-9 
Treverians, The, 24-5, 98, 263 
Treves (Trier), 24, 27, 99, 117, 177, 

239. 264, 309 
Troisvierges, see Ulflingen. 
Trottenbach, The, 293 

Ulflingen, 308, 309 
Useldange, 96, 305 
Utrecht, Treaty of, 32-3 



Varda, Count of, 98 

Vauban, Marshal, 72 ; Barracks, 72 

Versailles, Treaty of, 78 

Vianden, 137,226, 235-51, 301, 310; 
Black Death at, 239-40 ; Castle, 
162, 246-51, 276; Chapelle de la 
Sodalite at, 243 ; Church of St. 
Nicholas at, 240 ; Count of, 238-9 ; 
Cross of Justice at, 245-6 ; Enfran- 
chisement of, 238-9 ; Fire at, 239-40 ; 
French Revolutionaries in, 240 ; 
John Nepomuk, St., and, 240-1 ; 
Kloeppelkrieg, The, and, 240 ; 
Marie, Countess of, 244-5 > Martin's 
Eve, St., Ceremony of, at, 259 ; 
Parish Church of, 243-5, 258 ; 
Thirty Years War and, 239-40 ; 
Victor Hugo and, 241-3, 246 

Vichtelsloch, 219 

Vienna, Congress of, 34, 35 

Vogelsmiihle, 160 

Walferdange, Grand Ducal Residence 

at, 203 
Wallendorf, 263 
Wanterbach, The, 147 
Wark, River, 225 
Warsberg, Baron de, 276 
Wasserbillig, 117,310 
Wautier de Wiltz, 270 
Wehr, 114 

Wehrschrumschluff, The, 152 
Weidingen, 269 
Weilerbach, 139 
Weiler-la-Tour, 91 
Welkeschkammer, The, 140, 141 
Wellen, 114; Castle of, 115 

Welsdorf, 309 

Wenceslas I, of Luxembourg, 28-9 

II, of Luxembourg, 29, 68 ; IV, of 
Bohemia, 240 

Wendelin, St., Chapel of, 70 
William I, German Emperor, 1 10; II, 
of the Netherlands, 53, 54, 195, 247 ; 

III, of England, 239; III, of the 
Netherlands, 36 ; Grand Duke of 
Luxembourg, 36, 195 ; the Silent, 
16, 283 

Willibrord, St., 118, 119, 268 ; Church 
of, at Echternach, 120-2 ; Hospice 
of, 123-4 ; Shrine of, 122, 126, 129 ; 
Well of, 124 

Wiltz, 21, 26, 162, 267-71, 301, 307 ; 
River, 226, 302 

Wiltzes, Tribe of, 26, 269 

Wilwerding, 269 

Wilwerwiltz, 269, 282, 301 

Wincheringen, 114 

Wine, Production of, 18, 114, 115 

Winseler, 269 

Wintersdorf, 117 

Wirnebourg, Count of, 96-7, 

Woeringen, Battle of, 270 

Wolfsberg (Wolfsvelt), Ruins of, 174-5 

Wolfsschlucht, The, 138-9 

Woltz, River, 293 

Wormeldange, 114 

Yolande of Vianden, Countess, 203, 

Zigeunerlay, The, 140, 142 
Zollverein, German, ig, 20